


Quid Pro Quo

by triangular



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Human!Bill, brief grunkle fucking, extra lameness for her pleasure, fem!reader - Freeform, it's nice in here you should come by, triangle fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triangular/pseuds/triangular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six years since you set foot in your hometown, Gravity Falls.<br/>During your first night back, you're visited in your dreams by a mischievous demon looking to make a deal.<br/>You have the chance to receive almost anything you desire, all he wants in return is for you to retrieve a journal.<br/>However, things are never as simple as you'd like.<br/>Just how will you get the book? And what's so important about it?<br/>These are all burning questions you can only answer if you...read this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. EDFN WR BRXU URRWV

Ah, Gravity Falls.

 _It feels good to be home_ , you thought, stepping out of your family's van.

It had been years since you last saw your hometown after a strange, paranormal incident ruined your house and forced your family to move.

You had recently received a message from a childhood friend that a house was up for sale in the area, so by some hard persistence, you were able to convince your family to return.

While you went to unload your possessions, you couldn't help but stop to gaze at the town.

It was still the same old Gravity Falls, give or take a few new faces.

Speaking of faces, a very familiar one seemed to be approaching from your peripheral view.

“Hey, ___? Dude, it's been so long!”

You cringed at that unmistakeable voice and almost dropped a box on your toes as you turned to face its owner.

Wendy Corduroy.

“Oh, _heeeeeey_ Wendy!” You said through a forced, toothy smile.

It almost surprised you that she would so eagerly come up to you as if you were long-lost friends.

In fact, it was essentially the opposite.

Even though she was a few years younger than you, back when you were kids, she used to always tease you for your appearance and would have all her admirers laugh along at you, which would make you cry and them laugh even harder.

It was an understatement to say you despised her for making your younger years torture.

However, when you moved, you found new confidence and friends, and grew up into a beautiful, proud young adult.

Still, it didn't explain her forgetting what a bitch she was to you. You just hoped she still wasn't that way.

“Wow, you and your family're finally settling back in, huh? What's it been, five years?”

“Yeah...five or six, something like that,” You replied flatly.

“Man, you've changed so much, too! You're not that ugly dorkling I remember, haha!” Wendy grinned, leaning against the van.

“Mm,” you said, bitterly biting your tongue. “Seems you haven't changed a bit, huh?”

“Well, I've grown quite a few inches, at the least!” Wendy obliviously chuckled. “You want me to help you guys take some stuff in?”

As much as you didn't want her in your home, free labor wasn't anything you'd turn down.

 

With an extra pair of hands, everything was in your house before you knew it.

Out of your family's strict means of hospitality, you begrudgingly brought your old “friend” a glass of lemonade, and she started chatting away as you began putting some key items away.

“Ooh, man, remember that time you had that crush on some cartoon character? That was so funny! Kinda sad, too, if you think about it; liking someone way out of your league. Reminds me of my coworker, actually... Still, that didn't compare to that one haircut you had in fifth—”

“Coworker? Got a job, eh?” You deflected, hoping to avoid her talking about your youth.

“Yup! I work part-time at that tourist trap, the Mystery Shack. You remember, right? Run by the old Pines guy.”

The Mystery Shack. You hadn't thought about that place in ages. Even though most of the exhibits—if not all—were hoaxes, there was something, well, mysterious about the place.

You wish you could remember more, but the most you could recall was the owner's shocked face when you returned a journal he dropped, and how he insisted you call him your “Grunkle”, whatever that meant.

“I can vaguely remember that Grunkle Stan guy, but...”

“Oh, you call him that? Weird, that's what his niece and nephew call him. They've been working there for the summer, too. Like I was saying before, though, his nephew, Dipper, has had this major crush on me, right? Well, it's kinda like...I feel bad for him because he just doesn't get that I'm out of his league. I mean, he's cool as a little brother figure or something, but definitely not dating material. His sister, though, that's a whole other story. They're twins, so they have that creepy twin bond, and—”

“Why don't you let me come by your job tomorrow so I can see for myself? I need to get away from my family after the long ride here, y'know?” You quickly suggested mainly so she would stop talking (as her voice felt like needles in your brain) but you really were eager to see that Shack once more.

“Sure! Gotta warn you, though, the place is a drag. Unless you're _actually_ into that fake sci-fi stuff.”

You could swear she was implying something with that.


	2. GHDO ZLWK D GHPRQ

After the two of you had agreed on a visit to the Shack, Wendy continued to recount what felt like every single detail of her life—with a few underhanded insults sprinkled helter kelter.

You convinced her to leave after saying the move wore you out and you needed to rest.

Technically, it was true. However, try as you might, you struggled to sleep.

Every time you shut your eyes, an image of a triangle flashed in your mind and startled you awake.

You kept trying, but the flashing was hurting your brain.

Eventually, though, you must've knocked out because you suddenly realized you were in a dark kind of limbo.

You stood up and thought you might've sleepwalked into another room, so you went pawing for a wall to lead you out.

Suddenly, a light flickered behind you and you once again saw that strange triangle.

Between every other flicker, you could've sworn you saw an eye.

Then came the laughter. A strange, sadistic laugh reveled in your panicked confusion.

“Uh...am I asleep?” You asked no one in particular.

“I guess you could say that, toots,” a voice replied. “You're in the dreamscape.”

“The _dreamscape_? Right. Okay. And I'm guessing you're a talking, flashing triangle?”

“And once again, you're half-right, kiddo!” The voice giddily answered.

Suddenly, the flashing shape turned into a floating, yellow triangle with a large eye, arms, legs, a bowtie, and a top hat.

 _Yup, I'm in some crazy dream, all right_ , you thought to yourself.

“And no, this isn't just some crazy dream, babe.”

_How did he..._

“The name's Bill Cipher, some might call me a dream demon,” the thing said, reaching out one hand for a shake and the other to tip off his hat.

“Charmed, I'm sure.” You rolled your eyes, still skeptical, as you shook Bill's little, yet very warm, black hand. “What are you doing talking to me, anyhow? Don't you have more important people to haunt, like Kris Kringle?”

“Ha ha ha! I like you, kid. I actually do have a purpose here, you see. I happen to know you used to live in this town, and I also happen to know you came into contact with a certain book at some point.”

You blankly looked at the shape and motioned for him to continue.

“Well, I've been looking to get back that book. Used to be mine, you see. Before that old man stole it.”

 _Mr. Pines?_ Even you knew he had sticky fingers, but you couldn't comprehend how any human could steal something from a demon.

“Can't you manipulate, say, someone who actually has direct contact with him? That'd streamline the process much better, y'know.” Were you less tired, you would probably realize sassing this guy is a less than genius idea. However, given his small chuckle in response, it seemed Bill liked it.

“You think I haven't thought of that already? I already know his grandkids don't, ah, care for me too much. Then there's the maintenance man who's a few cards short of a deck and the lazy part-time princess, and lemme tell ya, neither of them are too useful. And I don't just mean for my plan! Ha!”

You smirked at that bit as he went on, “Plus, if I had anyone else, they'd just seem too out-of-character and suspicious, compared to the broad they haven't seen in years.”

He had a point, and, mostly because you wanted to wrap up this “meeting” to get some sleep, you agreed.

“Fine, fine, I'll help you out, but I work on a quid pro quo basis. What's in it for me?”

“How about, not being tormented every night and driven to insanity from my unthinkable powers?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed with your hand clutched over your heart.

“Just kidding! Hahahaha! You should see your face right now! Priceless! You humans and your emotions are hilarious.” The nacho-shaped hell-beast cheerfully wiped away a tear and continued, “Yeah, I figured you'd want something out of it. But that's the least of my worries, I can get you practically anything if you get me this book. But hey, save those details for later, alright? I don't really care until your part of the deal's done.”

You moved your hand to your hip and scoffed. “You're insane.” _And I can't say I don't like it_.

Bill outstretched a blue-flamed hand and all-too-eagerly asked, “Do we have a deal or not, kiddo?”

With a short hesitation, you said “deal” and shook his hand, which, while it didn't burn you, sent a jolt down your nerves, which left you feeling uneasy.

“Still,” you questioned, “how am I supposed to get close enough to Mr. Pines to be able to get a book that I've only seen once, for a short while?”

“You think this is an overnight deal? I know lots of things. Where he keeps that book isn't one of them. This plan will take a while, but, trust me, it'll be worth it.” His eye seemed to flash a shade of blue for a mere moment as he said that. “'Sides, just get a job there and you'll be fine. It is part of his house, you know.”

“I guess...but doesn't he have enough employees already?”

“Sheesh, kid, you're all about the details, aren't ya? Don't worry, I'll take care of that part. You just worry about what you're going to wear tomorrow, toots. Anyway, I have a little business to take care of. See you tomorrow!”

And with that, he was gone. You had so many questions still on the tip of your tongue, but before you knew it, you were out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woop woop, introduction of the Ciph.  
> hope he's close enough to character


	3. GL GSV HSZXP

Finally, the morning came.

Though you managed to get some sleep—exactly how much, you weren't sure—but you were well-rested enough to roll out of bed and put on a nice ensemble of a blouse and skirt, and fixed your hair in your favorite style.

Through every step of your morning routine, you were thinking about that dream.

_Was it even a dream? Who, or what, was that Bill Cipher thing, anyway?_

Eventually, you were ready and began stepping out the door. Your mom wanted you to finish unpacking, but after batting your lashes and giving a puppy smile, she let you off.

Fortunately, you still remembered the town's layout and, even in a new house, knew exactly how to get to the Mystery Shack by a few shortcuts.

As you approached the Shack, in the back of your head, the wicked laugh that belonged to that dream demon echoed and sent a chill down your spine. _I must be going crazy..._

Before you could fully process it, you realized you were at the entrance. You twisted the knob and entered, only to find yourself in an empty gift shop.

“Uh...are you guys closed and just forgot how to lock your door, or...?”

“Whazzat?” You heard a grisly voice bark from behind the employee door. “Wendy, take care of the damn customer!”

You glanced around. “She's not here.” Under your breath, you mocked, “what quality service.”

After hearing some obscenities tossed around and the stomping of angry footsteps, none other than Stan Pines barged his way through the door and, still putting his fez on, greeted, “Hey, welcome to the Mystery Shack. Tours are at noon and every other hour. Buy something.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he quickly turned his head to the door and yelled, “Hey Dipper! Get over here!”

“Really? But I'm still putting on the—”

“I don't care! Now!”

With a sigh, the boy appeared in some sort of cheesy werewolf costume and, avoiding your judging eyes, asked what his great uncle wanted.

“That girl Wendy, where is she? I know she's a terrible employee, but she's usually here.”

“Oh...I-I don't know, actually...” Dipper fumbled, becoming obviously flustered at her mention. You struggled not to roll your eyes. “I...I haven't seen her since last night, I think. Maybe she's just playing hooky. She _is_ a teenager, and girls just wanna have fun, right? Heheh...”

The were-boy sheepishly crumbled in stature when he saw you make an amused face in his peripheral view.

Again, you started to make a comment when someone else yelled from somewhere in the building.

“Dipper! You have to see what's on the news! Something happened!”

Said boy sighed and replied, “Mabel, something always happens on the news! That's why they report things!”

“No, no!” Mabel squawked, “It's Wendy!”

Without a moments hesitation, the boy bolted off, nearly tripping on his tail.

You turned to Grunkle Stan, and he to you, and shrugged.

“Hey, don't I know you?”

Finally.

“Yeah, I used to live here until something ruined our house, and now I'm back. The name's _____.”

“Hmm, I think I've heard that name before. I don't owe you money, do I?”

“Hah, no. The most interaction we had is when I returned a journal you dropped. Funny little thing with a six-fingered hand on it.”

For a brief moment, you could see his face twitch at the mention of that book. What was so special about it?

“Right, now I remember. Thanks for that, I guess. It's pretty important to me. Glad you weren't like me and just ran off with it, hah!”

With that, Dipper reentered the gift area. But this time, with a tear-streaked face.

Oh boy.

“G-Grunkle Stan, I don't think Wendy's coming back.” If his voice crack was noticeable before, it was unmissable this time.

“What...she's not dead, is she?” Stan's voice dropped, yet clearly not as concerned as his grandnephew, who snuffled and choked at that thought.

“I...I hope not! All I know is they say she went missing last night. Last seen walking into the forest. Mabel says she-she probably ran off with her boyfriend, but...she went into the woods alone. That's...that's...”

He seemed too well-aware of the dangers of the forest.

You knew about them as a kid, and to never go in there alone. Especially at night.

You briefly felt awful, but were conflicted by the fact that it was the girl who tormented you as a kid and deep down felt schadenfreude.

Still, you couldn't bear to see this boy bawling like that.

“It's okay, your sister's probably right. Girls do weird stuff when they like a boy, trust me. She'll probably snap back to her senses and come back in no time, Dipper.”

He looked up at you for a moment and sighed. “I guess that's true... Yeah, like that one time Mabel broke into the pool for Mermando! Or when she broke into that concert for Sev'ral Timez!” You were confused, but he was clearly cheering up. “Yeah, and Wendy's smart! She'll come back for sure! Awesome! Thanks, Miss!”

You nodded and he quickly went off to get tissues and talk more to his sister about it.

It was sweet, you were almost jealous of how open he is with his sibling. _Twins, one of life's greatest mysteries._

A loud huff of breath made you jump and realize Stan was still there, obviously peeved and deep in thought.

“Damn kids these days, running off with each other. Just like Carla and Thistle. Ugh...”

You made a slight cough to catch his attention.

“Hey, ____, right? You don't have a job yet, do ya? 'Cause I need someone to fill in for that girl.”

Something suddenly clicked in your head and you thought back to your talk with Bill.

“Uh, yeah! I'd love to work here. I actually had a job in retail back in my other town.”

“Job experience? You're already overqualified! Perfect.” He began rubbing his palms together.

“When can you start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> congrats, reader, you're working retail.


	4. 25-18-15-15 4-26-8 19-22-9-22

After some hours, your first day working at the Shack was coming to a close.

It was fun, you admit, properly meeting the twins and the maintenance worker, Soos, who you on more than one occasion accidentally called Deuce, though he didn't seem to notice.

The job was less than exciting considering you worked the gift shop, but compared to the mall store you used to work at, it was much more peaceful. Stan even remarked that you worked much better than Wendy ever had—which, you noticed, caused Dipper to stiffen a little and mutter something barely audible.

Mabel enjoyed babbling on about various things to you, and you thought it was rather cute the way she used stickers to emphasize her feelings and ended your shift with more than a couple plastered on you.

Before leaving, you and Grunkle Stan settled the important parts of you working with them—such as agreeing to be paid both under minimum wage and under the table.

In fact, the job had virtually zero benefits. If it weren't for your deal with Bill, you'd probably turn down the job in favor of a fast-food joint— _And that says something_ , you thought to yourself. _Still, I have no clue how to get near that book. This isn't quite A to B..._

You spent the entire walk home thinking up ways to find out where the journal would be ( _Hypnosis? Nah..._ ) but couldn't come up with anything that wasn't utterly suspicious or impossible.

When you made it home and joined your family for dinner, you told them about your new job—leaving out a few certain details, of course—and they were all approving of it. “As long as you don't have any boxes left before next year!” Your mother joked.

With a smirk, you rolled your eyes when something caught your attention. Looking at the clock, you realized none of the numbers were correct.

You quickly grabbed out your phone and typed down the numbers—22-2-22-8-22-22-2-12-6-15-12-15—and as soon as you typed the last digit and glanced back to check, the clock was normal.

Weird.

You knew by the repetition that it was some form of cryptogram, but by the funny look your sibling gave you, you thought it would be best not to work it out at the table.

Since you were finished, you excused yourself and made your way into your room.

Luckily, you kept a small pad in your bag for doodling, so you were able to forgo searching through boxes and got right to the code.

After a couple minutes, you found it was just a reverse-numerical alphabet.

You wrote down the letters that matched it and...

“'EYE-SEE-YOU-LOL'?” You grimaced.

_How cheesy..._

Suddenly, the room faded to a blurry gray and a far-too familiar voice echoed.

“What, you didn't think it was funny? C'mon, it took me forever to think of a 12-number joke!”

“It was...alright!” You offered. “I mean, the 'eye' part was a bit contrived, but...”

“Ah, what would you know about good humor? Kids these days, you need to learn to respect your elders' comedy gold,” He joked as his triangular form appeared.

You considered asking him how old he really was, but figured some things are better left unknown.

“So, how was the first day of work, kiddo?” Bill asked, reclining in midair.

“Not too bad, all things considered,” you mused, before immediately sharpening your stare at him.

“By the way, with Wendy...was that—?”

“Guilty as charged! Heheheh.”

“But you didn't...?”

“No, I didn't kill the girl. I just, you know,” he pretended to admire his nonexistent fingernails, “convinced her to leave.”

You didn't exactly like the way he phrased that, and it showed on your face.

“It's not like you particularly cared for her, anyway, right?”

The triangle's body began to flash images of the childhood memories you had tried to repress.

“Well, that's...true,” you admitted, “but it's not exactly comforting to know some cutesy, magic nacho can readily make people go missing.”

“'Cutesy, magic nacho'? Gee, way to make me sound less menacing than a satanic teddy-bear,” The demon pouted, completely ignoring your concern.

You had to hold back a giggle from how sensitive he was acting about his appearance.

However, a twang of bitter irony made you recant, “Ah, c'mon, Bill! For someone who loves to laugh, you can't take a joke well. Though, this _does_ bring a new meaning to 'so cute I could eat you up'...”

He caught on to the joke and tried to reciprocate, “Well, I _could_ become a giant jawed beast and tear you apart, if that's how you like it!”

Your grin shrank into an awkward smile as you sputtered, “Uh- _huh_...”

“No, really! Let me show you!”

You immediately posed to protest, but he already was in the midst of transforming into an enormous, shadowy monster with long, spindly appendages and a jaw bearing teeth over half the size of your body.

The creature stood, huffing, and then let out a startling, ear-shattering screech that caused your legs to go limp and send you flat on your behind, too petrified to scream.

“Hahaha! Who's cute now?” The beast crooned as he reverted into his natural, angular shape.

“Holy shit, Bill...I get it. You're a demon,” you choked, finding your voice, “But being a human, I can't help you if you send me into a coma.”

“I guess you're right on that one. What's up with you things? You're so fragile and durable at the same time.” 

The way he spoke gave you the idea that he either has a grudge against bodies or experience abusing them.

Either way, you didn't want to press further, though you secretly wondered what he would look like as a human.

“Oh, look, I've been getting so sidetracked! Tell me, toots, how much closer are we to that special ol' book of mine?”

“Um...” You sheepishly grinned, “I'm working there.”

Bill grumbled and glowed a faint red before you quickly added, “But like you said, this takes time! It's not like getting close to a jaded old man can be done in a day.”

The scarlet glow faded. “I guess I have been a tiny bit overzealous,” he shrugged, defeated, “You'd be impatient, too, if your master plan has been stalled for so long.”

If you weren't wary of his intentions before, the term “master plan” definitely gave you the chills.

You might've considered dropping the deal if it weren't for the fact that Bill Cipher was clearly capable of horrible things.

“I got it!” said being declared, snapping his fingers, “You humans are slaves to your wants and desires, right? Why not use that to your advantage?”

Baffled, you merely raised an eyebrow, arms folded in curiosity.

“I like to keep my eye on this town—among other things—and I know that bag of wrinkles hasn't had a ladyfriend in much longer than he'd ever admit.”

You really didn't like where this was going.

“What I'm saying is, use your womanly ways. Schmooze with him, sleep with him, whatever it takes, really.”

Stammering for a second, you spouted, “Wh...I...I don't know if you understand that I'm just _barely_ legal and he's at least _quadruple_ my age! That's something that just doesn't happen in the real world, pal!”

“Psh, real world, schmeal world. In this realm, no such taboos apply.” He paused.

“And by that, I mean the dreamscape. I'm not referring to any fourth walls or anything.”

“Uh—”

“ _Besides_ , sweetcheeks, you have a rack and a couple holes. Isn't that all a guy wants?”

He had a point.

“I'm still pretty sure that he'd react the same way I did and then fire me,” you deadpanned.

Bill rolled his eye and said, “Have it your way. It was just a suggestion, anyway. It's not like I'm an omniscient entity.”

You clicked your tongue and replied, “If it makes you feel better, I'll keep that idea in mind.”

“Haha, that's more like it,” he chirped, shifting to ruffle your hair. “You're fun, kid, I like you. But for your sake, make some progress tomorrow.”

You sharply exhaled from your nose and muttered a, “fine, fine.”

“And obedient, too,” he laughed. “Well, this was a good meeting, so I'll cut it here. I have a little side-project to work on, anyhow. Have fun tomorrow! And remember, I'm always watching!”

Before you could even mouth a goodbye, he vanished.

You blinked and found your room had returned to its normal, technicolor form.

With a quick glance to the clock, you saw that no time had passed since Cipher appeared.

Nevertheless, you were tired and made your way over to your bed and, after a “quick” visit to Rumblr on your laptop, fell asleep, anxious for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shh, it's okay, I know I'm a bad writer.


	5. ZMLGSVI WZB, ZMLGSVI WVZO

“G'morning, Mister Pines!” You cheerily greeted as you entered the Mystery Shack.

There he was, in his wife-beater and boxers, focused on tapping a few buttons on the vending machine.

The sudden burst of your voice caused the man to jump. “Oh, uh, hey kid,” he stammered, quickly moving away from the machine. “Aren't you a little early?”

“No, not really,” you arched your brow in confusion. “You told me to come in at half-past ten.”

“Is that right?” Stan said in a tone that also seemed confused. “Guess I'm not used to employees working on time.

Somehow, you weren't surprised.

“Sorry kid, truth is, I don't need you here for another half-hour. I just tell people an earlier time because I know they're usually late.”

“Oh, I don't blame you for that,” you dismissed, “Still, you sure there isn't anything I can help with? It'd be pointless for me to leave just to come back.”

He seemed to think about it, and you cleverly added, “I'm not expecting to be paid extra.”

“That's what I like to hear,” he grinned. “I guess while I go change you could corral the kids and get them in their outfits for the day. Going to have the Amazing Dancing Lamb-Boy and Mabel the Mermaid today. Sucke—tourists seem to love them the most.”

You were glad to not be those two.

Considering how embarrassed Dipper was in a wolf outfit, you couldn't imagine how he'd react to a lamb suit.

Mabel, on the other hand, would probably love to be a mermaid. The idea of it made your smile briefly widen.

“Follow me real quick,” Stan said, moving towards the “employees only” door, which, you found led to a living room.

With a tilt of his head and point of his thumb, he motioned toward a damaged staircase and stated, “The rascals live up in the attic, just take those stairs.”

You nodded and uttered a small, “Alright, Mr Pines,” and started up the steps.

“Oh, and kid?” The man interrupted, grabbing his nearby mug, “You don't have to be formal, this ain't Russia. Call me Stan.”

“Alright... _Stan_.” You smiled sweetly and gave a courtesy wave before continuing ahead.

You mentally patted yourself on the back for securing your spot on his good side.

 _See, I can handle this without resorting to that lecher's idea!_ You thought to yourself. Though, the more you considered it, the more you admitted to yourself that Stan indeed had some attractive features—though they went unflattered in his hunched and lazy lounge clothes. _Maybe if he were half his age._

As you neared the attic door, you began to register Dipper and Mabel's voices.

“It was weird, Mabel! I was hoping he'd at least leave us alone for a little longer after that puppet ordeal...”

Curiosity piqued, you silently leaned on the door to listen more closely.

“What did that dumb ol' Bill want from you anyway, Dips? The journal, right?”

_Bill? The journal?_

“Well...kind-of. He was really mad and ranting on a mile a minute. All I caught was that he was hoping he could use Gideon's prison sentence as a way to cut a deal with him to get the second book, but that 'the fat brat' dropped it when he was arrested, but it wasn't there when he checked, and then he started accusing me of having it. Remember how scary he was when he was mad back in Grunkle Stan's mind?It was even worse than that. I tried telling him that I only have the third one, but...” he paused.  
“He really knows how to terrorize when he wants to. Then he said something in Latin and told me, 'if it weren't for that old man, I'd have your head and your journal on a silver platter!'”

Mabel gasped, “Woah, what do you think that means?!”

“I don't know, but...”

You tried to piece that new information together, but couldn't fully wrap your mind around it all. The only thing you concluded was that Dipper did a great Bill impression. Still, the fact that they knew about him and he confronted the kids at least a couple times, even though it was mentioned in passing before, made you slightly unnerved.

 _Well_ , you reasoned to yourself, _what else should I be expecting from a **demon**?_

You decided to stop worrying about it and ask Bill about it later.

Proceeding with your duty, you gave a few courtesy knocks before opening the door.

“Hey guys!”

“Hiyo! Welcome to our attic!” Mabel enthusiastically beamed.

“Yeah, hi,” Dipper dully repeated.

You had a feeling your job as “Wendy's replacement that actually works,” according to Stan, made him a bit bitter towards your presence.

“Stan wanted me to come up here and tell you guys that for today's set of tourists, he wants you to be...what were they? Oh, Mabel the Mermaid—” just as you predicted, the girl lit up—“and the Amazing Dancing Lamb-Boy.”

The boy's face dropped. “What?! Ugh, this is why you never should have told him about that, Mabel!”

“Sorry,” Mabel grinned unapologetically, “But it's so cute, Dipper! C'mon, they'll love it!”

“Nuh-uh, no way,” he protested, making a show of crossing his arms and shaking his head. “There is no way I'm going to do the Lamby Lamby Dance in front of strangers just for them to laugh at me!”

“It won't be that bad, Dipper,” you piped, squatting down to his size, “These are people that you'll never see again in your life. Plus, if they're gullible enough to think most of the stuff down there is real, they'll probably think you're a real Lamb-boy. Don't worry!”

His face briefly brightened before he pouted and turned away. “But Grunkle Stan's probably going to record it and haunt me with it for the rest of my life. 'Hey, you're the pipsqueak's girlfriend? Here, watch him dance like a baby in a lamb outfit!'”

You sniggered and shook your head. “C'mon, he can't be _that_ mean.”

“Oh, he is,” Mabel nodded.

“Ah...” You shrank and gave it some thought.

“How about this, if you manage to get through today, I'll help you get some dirt on Stan so he can't blackmail ya. Sound good?”

Just like that, the boy perked. “You mean it? Ooh, that would be so awesome!”

“Yeah,” Mabel energetically agreed, hopping down from her bed. “What if we become the paparazzi and get her to snap a photo of Grunkle Stan naked?!”

You immediately choked on your breath and jumped to your feet.

“Uh, I don't think—”

“Hahaha! That would be so funny! And we could threaten to sell it to Soos!” Dipper agreed, too eager to shame his grand-uncle.

“Guys, that's kind-of...not cool for me to do.”

“Aw, c'mon, _pleeeaaase?_ ” The twins begged, putting on their cutest faces.

Damn those kids.

“Fine. I'll see what I can do,” you muttered, defeated.

“Thank you, thank you! This is gonna be so hilarious!” They cheered, Mabel giving you a hug.

_As if you guys gave me a choice..._

“HEY, are you kids ready to work, or what?!” Stan's voice boomed from below.

_Right, work._

“Coming, Grunkle Stan!” The duo yelled back, rushing off to get their outfits on.

As you left and made your way down your stairs, you thought to yourself, _What have I been getting myself into?_

“Remember, we're counting on you!” Mabel shouted from around the corner with a wide, metallic smile.

_God, let this shift never end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kids can be real devils sometimes.  
> If any of y'all are getting impatient, let me promise you some Drunkle Grunkle next chapter.  
> What happens when you get yourself in a drinking game with the owner of the Mystery Shack in an attempt to get him nude for a scandalous photograph?  
> Find out next time, kiddies. ',;^)  
> (also, college stuff makes me delay a little, sorry, y'all!)


	6. VKXW BRXU IXFNLQJ IDFH, JUXQNOH IXFNHU

“Ha, told you, kid, there's no way anyone can outdrink the Grunkle.”

The man had a point.

You hadn't drank that much before, being only able to swipe the occasional glass of wine from your mom's stash.

Challenging an experienced drinker to an impromptu shot contest was probably one of the worst decisions you've made—and you've been making a lot of questionable decisions lately.

Still, after hanging around the Shack for some hours after your shift and getting looks of expectation from Mabel and Dipper at every turn, you needed to think of something to get him stripped down before the twins get impatient and pull some creepy twin trick.

Luckily, Stan was always up for a chance to be better than someone, so he agreed and pulled out the tequila and some shot glasses.

It tasted worse than you ever expected, but you were too stubborn to give up easily.

Miraculously, you managed to get through five shots out of the eight you were supposed to down as quickly as possible.

Of course, Stan sped through them and impressively downed your remaining few as well.

He was, inevitably, gloating like he had bowled an entire game of strikes.

Within a short time, the alcohol was getting to your head and muddying your thought process.

Tuning out his words, you zoned your focus on his looks.

He was already in his lounging outfit and for whatever reason, wasn't wearing his hat—which you never were a fan of, anyway—in addition to his strong facial structure, he bore a faint blush from drinking.

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or the lighting, but he seemed... _handsome._

But you quickly shook off the thought and slurred, "I gotta tell ya, old man, the real reason I'm doin' this is 'cause those twins want me to get you naked for some kinda picture."

Stan laughed in a sultry bass that made your knees twitch.

"Those two are always up to something. Sure, I'll do it," he gave a sly grin. "It's not as if I haven't done worse things because some broad asked me to."

You slowly blinked and tried to tell if he was serious. Maybe he was a little more tipsy than he was letting on.

"Are...are you—?"

Standing up, Stan threw off his wife-beater and slid his thumb into his waistband before stopping and giving a cocky smile.

"But I think the living room wouldn't be the best background for that picture. Why we go to my room and see how that works?" 

Were you any bit sober, you would've caught the implications.

 

Next thing your brain registered was being in a slightly messy bedroom.

Closing the door behind you, Stan motioned his head toward the bed and you obediently sat down.

Leaning on the dresser facing you, almost missing the ledge, he grinned, “But, y'know, it's not exactly fair if _I'm_ the only one doing this...”

You opened your mouth to reply, but couldn't form any words.

“Here, I'll help you,” he said, moving towards you.

Frozen in a mix of alcohol and emotions, you limply went along as he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside.

He reached for your bra clasp, and with a quick flick of his fingers, it was unhooked.

As he delicately removed the garment, you felt your face burn up and, finally mustering up some words, spoke barely above a whisper, “Stan, I don't think— _ah!_ ” You squeaked as he firmly grasped your breast.

“Don't think, then,” he huffed, “it'll make this much easier.”

With that, he pushed you onto your back and took your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it while groping your other breast.

You let out a moan and laced a hand into his gray hair. “Fuck, Stan, no—!”

With your sensitive bud between his teeth, he gave a grisly chortle that, from his hot breath hitting your bare skin, sent a shiver down your spine.

Suddenly, he got up and teased, “Why so hesitant? Thought this's whatcha wanted!”

_Shit, he thought I was lying about the twins._

“It-it's not that, I...”

Your voice died when you saw the man slide down his boxers to reveal his sizable, semi-erect member.

With his fists on his sides and his ego out of check, he boasted, “Are ya still sure y'wanna take the high road and chicken out?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a paper stuck to the wall that had a triangle drawn on it.

_I...might as well,_ you submitted, swallowing your pride. _A means to an end, right?_

You gave Stan bedroom eyes and stood in front of him. Leaning in with one hand gripping his shoulder, you slid your dominant hand down his chest, his pelvis, and wrapped your fingers around his cock.

“The better question, old man, is how long can you last?” You purred, gently stroking his stiffening length.

His breath hitched as he grunted, “Mm, that's what I like to hear.”

“Pervert,” you scoffed, gradually pumping more vigorously.

You must have been better than you thought, because it wasn't long before his dick was slick from precum.

The way he twitched under your touch and his lewd, sharp breathing was turning you on, as much as you tried to deny yourself.

Of course, Stan keenly caught on and grabbed your arm, nodding towards the bed.

Your back had barely touched the mattress before he began to take off your jeans, only fumbling slightly with the zipper.

Pausing for a moment, he then proceeded to glide your panties down your legs and toss them somewhere in the dark.

With two fingers, he rubbed your pussy and growled, “Look, you're already dripping wet. I must not be the only pervert.”

You avoided his gaze and mumbled to yourself.

“What was that?”

“I said put it in already,” you hissed, face redder than a ruby.

He cackled and leaned over you, left hand propped against the bedding, and brought his forehead to yours, grinning wildly. “If you insist, kid.”

And with that, he slid his cock right in, causing you to twitch and gasp in slight discomfort.

“God _damn_ , I haven't felt a pussy this tight in decades,” he groaned and brought his mouth to yours, assaulting your tongue with his like a hungry animal.

Between him ramming you, the intense oral stimulation, and the tequila still tapping your system, your mind was gone and you were in ecstasy.

“Oh, fuck,” you whined, feeling the pressure building up.

You could feel his balls slapping your ass as he slammed into you harder and harder until—“ _Ahh, fuck!_ ”

Glints of silver trashed your vision as you had a screaming orgasm.

By the way he was wheezing, you could tell Stan wasn't going to last much longer, either.

Before you could say it, he pulled out and you quickly wrapped your mouth around his cock and gave it a few swirls with your tongue.

With a booming, guttural moan, he exploded into your mouth, and you struggled to swallow it all.

“Shit, kid, I haven't felt that good since I almost won a game show,” he groaned, flopping to one side of the bed.

You felt the post-orgasm fatigue and slowly sank down onto your side and covered yourself with as much blanket as you could get from under the sleeping man—who you briefly worried had a heart attack until he let out a loud snore—and closed your sagging eyelids, wondering whose phone was making that faint buzzing noise.

_This is going to be hard to explain in the morning_ , you lamented, _Tough luck, future me._

Just as you hit the unconsciousness of dreaming, you were startled awake by that all too familiar laugh, and found the room once again frozen in time—even that sleeping deadweight next to you—and, somehow, you felt clearheaded and refreshed.

“Well, well, well!” Bill Cipher teased, apparating in a show-offish puff of smoke.

“What a show, toots! Have you considered movies?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay seriously i feel like such trash
> 
> anyway, yeah, that just happened.
> 
> In the next installment, we're going to have a change of perspective as we experience Bill's point of view as his plan unfolds, and just what that certain strange feeling that's been haunting him for the past few days is.


	7. J KZFMLY'E UPTYL WQ LOGESJVR QVVYJ

Bill Cipher simply loved to see people squirm, and you were no different.  
  
The way your eyes raced and your mouth rambled while you tried to cover yourself was hilarious.  
  
But, for the sake of a suave facade, Bill fought back the urge to laugh—which was somewhat easier without a mouth.  
  
Whatever you were saying went through one ear and out the other—again, a phenomenon hard to explain due to his form—as the demon was having fun just floating there, knowing his unresponsiveness was driving you to further embarrassment and self-shame.  
  
Still, something tugged at the back of his mind. A feeling. If he didn't know any better, he might've thought he was feeling _bad_ for putting you through this. And not the evil kind of bad that he typically relished, but almost like... _guilt_. Something that was completely new to him.  
  
Then again tricking someone, even if they were just a pawn, into that kind of relations with the man who he despised almost as much as the journals' author was pretty off-putting, even to him.  
  
 _That schmuck,_ he thought in grating irritation, looking at the sleeping man beside you, _If he weren't in that goddamn Order, he'd be nothing but a mess of organs by now._  
  
“Y-you're not mad at me, are you?” You fearfully stammered, seeing his deadly, intense red glow. “Hell, I-I thought you'd be gloating by now, about you having the better plan...”  
  
Realizing his unconscious display, he calmed down and gave it some thought.  
  
Was he mad? Maybe in the other sense of the word, but emotion-wise...he wasn't sure.  
  
That's what he hated about getting involved with humans.  
  
On his own, he was always in schadenfreude-derived bliss.  
  
But the meatbags, they're always such an unpredictable variable, what with their emotions, and after all the time he spent dealing with them, it seemed to be rubbing off.  
  
Still, the question remained, was he mad?  
  
Knowing Stanford Pines was still alive, yes, of course he was.  
  
However, there was something more than that he was experiencing. It was like anger, but... _different_.  
  
Jealousy, maybe? No, that couldn't be it...  
  
He knew that feeling all too well, as he'd been longing for a permanent host—and in lieu of his last possession attempt, he was less than eager to try that again—because being a dream demon grew less and less exciting over the centuries; terrorizing people in the daytime would be much more exhilarating, he imagined, with all the opportunities that'd open right up.  
  
Unfortunately, he could only make those appearances when he was either summoned or a possibility for a deal was present—otherwise, it would require more energy than he could afford to exert.  
  
Ah, yes, that's why he'd been working for the longest time on a little project of his own: creating, from scratch, a body to call his own.  
Of course, as omniscient as he claimed to be, he'd be lying if he said he didn't know or remember a few things here or there, like the team with the most Super Bowl wins, or the name of the broad who played Lisa in that one really bad Tommy Wiseau movie.  
  
Sad to say, making a habitable body was on that list.  
  
He'd already collected the right pieces and body parts, but for some reason, it just wouldn't become his.  
  
That's the reason he needed those books. Or, one of the reasons, anyway.  
  
Once he could finally figure that last part, he could destroy the books and all of its secrets forever and reign both the dream world and the physical world.  
  
 _Yes, that's the reason..._

  


His musings were suddenly interrupted from your awkward cough, no longer afraid for yourself, but concerned by Bill's detachment.  
  
“Oh, uh, what was the question?” the demon asked with an uneasy chuckle.  
  
You lifted an eyebrow.  
  
“Er, look, I know you're a demon and all, but...Bill, you being so out-of-it makes me worried. I can't make you, but if there's something you wanna get off your, uh,” you paused, giving him a once-down in an attempt to suss out his triangular anatomy, “chest? Hm. I mean, if you need to talk about something, I'm here. Bottling it in only hurts you, trust me. Been there, done that,” you shook your head a bit and gave him a small, sincere smile.  
  
He was taken slightly aback at the concept of someone caring about him and not their own life.  
  
A barely noticeable tinge of pink grew as he dismissively waved his small hand, saying in his best front, “Oh, please, toots. I don't think your feeble mind could comprehend any issues with the magnitude of a demon's.”  
  
His words noticeably didn't faze you, who just gave him a suspicious, raised eyebrow and crossed your arms.  
  
“I highly doubt—”  
  
“Anyway, sweetcheeks, I thought you might want a hint box for what to do next.”  
  
With that, he pulled out a rather small, wrapped box from behind his back and tossed it to you.  
  
By some luck, you managed to catch it in your hand and opened it rather messily.  
  
Inside, you found a small paper, similar in size to one that you would find in a fortune cookie.  
  
You stared blankly at him for a second and rolled your eyes.  
  
“Aren't you gonna read it? The words are on the other side, Einstein.”  
  
“Hmph, I knew that,” you plainly lied, pouting your tinted cheeks.  
  
You flipped the paper over and indeed found words.  
  
It read: _The old fuck's out for the count, do some snooping and find that book._  
  
And if you find yourself a little hungry, you might just be one step closer.  
  
“What the hell's that supposed to—”  
  
You looked up at him to see him give one last wink—or blink, it's not that easy to tell—before vanishing and the color returning to the area.  
  
“Goddammit, Bill...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, expositionnnnnn.  
> I'm sorry, I suck. ;___; just trying to build some character stuff for Billy-boy.  
> Next chapter will get back to Reader actually doing something ~~if these classes don't kill me~~!  
>  (fun fact, the reader-insert is probably my least favorite writing style)


	8. 20-15-19-4 5-9-20-23 15-5 18-9-6 5-7-3-23-6-19-5

Without further ado, you hopped off the bed, your head suddenly pounding.  
 _Oh yeah... guess that's a thing now._  
With a sigh, you slowly crept around the room to retrieve and wear your clothes.  
You occasionally stopped when he stirred in his sleep, but it seemed he was a heavy sleeper, luckily.  
After you slid up your pants, you recalled someone's phone buzzing at some point.  
It didn't take a genius to imagine what waited for you in your phone's inbox.  
With as much hesitation as possible, staring worriedly at the phone's clock (which read past one) for too long, you read the messages:

_“working late?? text me when ur done luv u”_  
 _“hello???? when r u getting home???”_  
 _“it is past eleven missy, get home now!!!”_  
 _“seriously??? I am your MOTHER, don't ignore me!!!!”_  
 _“you have no excuses for being out this late, you're in big trouble.”_  
 _“okay, you know what? fine. if you aren't home in the morning, you might as well not come back.”_

You didn't so much as wince at the texts. These were the kind of empty threats you were used to.  
As long as you showed up and made breakfast for everyone, she'd soon forget about it.  
 _Though, an alibi might be a good idea,_ you thought, _Ah well, I'll think of that later._  
Quickly glancing up at the snoring old man, you remembered your promise to the twins.  
You opened your phone's camera and—glad that he squirmed out of the sheets enough to be exposed—snapped a photo, silently praying no one scrolls through your phone later.

He must have the books in here, you decided, and went through the motions of snooping through the room with as much stealth as you could muster.  
 _Bedside drawer?_ There was a Bible, which surprised you. Until you opened it and found a flask.  
 _Under the bed?_ Neither books nor monsters. A nice collection of tissues, though.  
 _Hidden in his underwear drawer?_ Yep. Nope. Just boxers. And condoms. Nice of him to forget.  
 _Of course, that chest!_ Porn mags. You shuffled around and found a Playboy coverbunny that seemed like a much-younger version of one of your old teachers. _Cringefest._

You searched every possible spot in the room and gave up.  
 _Wait, what was with that hintbox? Something about getting hungry?_  
Your stomach seemed to growl in agreement. Or anger with you substituting booze for dinner.  
Either way, you figured it was time to check the kitchen.  
You paced toward the door and grasped the doorknob, flinching when you heard Stan shuffle in bed.  
For what felt like an eternity, you slowly, slowly opened the door just wide enough for you to fit through, and shut it behind you.

After a while of shuffling aimlessly around the dark house, feeling along every wall and object, you saw a blistering light from around the corner.  
You peeked your head into the room and saw, indeed, light shining from the refrigerator, silhouetting the unmistakeable figure of Dipper, who was rummaging around.  
“Ugh, why do we only have Diet Pitt? Who even drinks that?” he muttered to himself, weighing his beverage options.  
Meanwhile, you surveyed the room as best as you could with the poor lighting and managed to make out the shape of a book laid out on the table, flipped open.  
 _Bingo_ , you excitedly thought, before another one immediately soured your mood, _What if it's just a cookbook? That demon just wants me to look like an idiot, doesn't he? That fucking—_

You stopped your mental tirade when Dipper turned around, can of sodapop in hand, moving close.  
Instinctively, you ducked back against the wall. God knows how shifty it'd seem to that naturally-tense boy for you to be around in the shadows so late. What would you say? “Oh, hey Dips, I was just screwin' your great-uncle. What's up?” _Yeah, right._  
Shutting your eyes as the footsteps neared, hoping to employ the you-can't-see-me-if-I-can't-see-you tactic, you attempted to blend into the walls, until you suddenly heard him shift and a chair squeaking across the floor.  
Again, you snaked your head around the corner to see his silhouette intently face the book.  
 _Reading in the dark?_ You mentally scoffed. _Or is he delirious from sleep deprivation and thinks staring at a recipe will make food appear?_  
However, as you soon found, his intentions were much different. He grabbed a pencil and some weird rectangular object from the table and clicked a button, causing it to glow ultraviolet light.  
And with that UV light, the book began to glow, as well.  
 _What the...?_  
  
“Now, let's see here. The creature number, 326, is circled with the ink and says...what is that, 'not just'? 'Not just' what? Okay,” he sighed to himself, “Does that mean the author was thinking of changing the categorization because of the whole cosmic powers thing, or does that mean there are more demons at the same level—or, God forbid, above—Bill's...?”  
 _Shit, that's right!_ You cursed yourself, _I was supposed to ask that ass how the twins knew him!_  
At least this gave you a chance to learn more. Good think Dipper wasn't one to think silently.  
“So, if he's not the only one, what else could there be...? Oh, what about that one-eyed star symbol that was always on Gideon's stuff? Yeah, if there's a triangle demon, it's only logical to have a star one!”  
He giggled and scribbled something down on a nearby notepad.  
Pressing the eraser-tip of the pencil to his cheek, he mused, “That might explain something with him having that other book. But if the symbol's familiar enough to him, why didn't he just summon that instead of Bill when he wanted to get into Grunkle Stan's mind? Maybe...it has another function...?”  
The way he attacked the paper with his pencil showed Dipper was devout to figuring it all out, and you briefly wondered how much sleep he'd collectively lost to that book thus far.

  


Still, the prospect of another demon—or demons—was worrisome.  
But it made sense, didn't it? Bill wasn't a god by a longshot; the existence of others was obvious.  
That begged the question, though, if the journals were so important, why weren't there more creatures going after it?  
 _You know what, I'm lucky there isn't some square or circle coming after me_ , you reasoned, _All that matters is that I get the books and my greatest wish can come true, and I can finally—_  
A sound akin to a pterodactyl's roar erupted from your stomach.  
Fuck, you forgot about that.  
As you saw Dipper gasp and jump from his seat, you turned and bolted, trying your best not to make noise.  
Of course, speed and silence are pretty hard to attain in a house filled with kitsch.  
After knocking down a thing or two and stubbing your toe on a table (it took all your strength not to yelp), you found yourself in the familiar area of the gift shop, lit softly by an outside streetlamp.  
“Wh-who's there? I'm warning you, I'm armed!” The boy lied, his voice wavering.  
You peered past the “employees only” door and saw his UV light was growing nearer.  
“I-I know you're there!”  
Maybe making a mad dash wasn't the best idea.  
  
Accidentally bumping against the side of the busted vending machine, you grabbed your right hand around the machine to help you bound past it and out the door. Or a window, since that would make for a cooler exit.  
But as fate would have it, you somehow pressed the correct buttons for the machine to swing open, revealing a secret entrance.  
Without missing a beat, you leapt inside and shut it quickly behind you, making sure it didn't slam loudly.  
You stayed, ear pressed against the door, and listened.  
For a boy, he had light footsteps, but you could still make out the sound of them pattering against the floor, along with his frightened, near-hyperventilation panting.  
He paced for a while until he declared, “M...Must've been a raccoon,” and left.  
By the sound of his voice, though, you were confident Dipper was still nervous.  
You started to deliberate on the prospect of sneaking back to the kitchen.  
 _It'd be risky, but...I'm sure that was one of them!_  
  
 _Wait... **one** of them._  
Leaning your forehead on the wall, you recalled the twins mentioning there were three, at least.  
Bill sent you looking for two that Stan supposedly swiped.  
Dipper was reading one, but whether it was one of the two or the third, you weren't sure.  
You never saw him reading anything outside of mystery books before, and, considering he was studying it alone in a dark kitchen, he must be somewhat secretive about it.  
However, as grisly as Mr Mystery tries to look, you heard often heard him pacing around and worrying about them when they left the house unannounced.  
There was no way he'd willingly let them get entangled with things as malicious as demons, even if it were just on paper.  
 _Plus, didn't those two say Bill threatened them, already knowing they had at least one?_  
Your brain slowly processed it all together.  
 _So then, the two I'm looking for don't include the one Dipper has._  
 _...but why didn't he just tell me to get all three? Does that isosceles enigma have another plan?_  
Ugh. All the trials and tribulations you were pondering so late and on an such an empty stomach was starting to hurt and piss you off.  
“If only this damn vending machine worked,” you growled, lightly pounding your fist on the back of the masquerading door.  
“Wait.”  
If those metaphorical lightbulbs were real, you'd probably have a foglight above your head.  
“The broken food dispenser guarding a secret entrance? Of course! I'm like a modern-day Indiana Jones!”  
You immediately straightened up and felt your way down the hall, reaching an opening.  
It seems a mechanized door would normally be blocking the way, but the keypad screen must've been broken, only flickering a couple triangles.  
 _Maybe Bill phoned a computer-demon friend to hack it_ , you chuckled, not wanting to question the convenience.

What was past that entrance was unexpected, to say the least.  
Computers, monitors, all with some codes blazing across the screens.  
Across from you and under quite a few screens was a chair and standard workdesk.  
On its side was a taped picture of Mabel and Dipper, and on the desk itself were an empty mug, scattered papers, and...  
  
“The journals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author trivia: once I finish a chapter, I feel too embarrassed to ever read it again, unless I absolutely have to for continuity's sake.  
> probably explains why my writing blows hahahahaha
> 
> but I hope you guys like it anyway


	9. QE ZOW KCEK VU

Eager to find out what was inside the well-protected bindings, you grabbed the first book, ingeniously titled “1”, and flipped through.

It was amazing; moreso than you thought: logs on all sorts of things that you were told were only imaginary and myths.

Each entry was so detailed with sketches, descriptions, and commentary by the writer (whomever it was, since you couldn't find the name anywhere).  
What baffled you, though, were the various cryptograms throughout the pages.

_No wonder it's important_ , you gaped, _These must all add up to something...something unimaginable._

Returning the book to the desk, you triumphantly scanned over the rest.

“Here they are, One, Two, and Three.”

“... _Three?!_ ”

That was impossible.

Or, was it?

You know Dipper had _a_ book, but you weren't sure it was one of _these_.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

_Yes, maybe it was a new form of mystery book, where it forced you to use clues and figure it out yourself._

 

Lying to yourself wasn't working, the details from what he read were far too specific.

“But then,” you wondered, tracing a finger over the “1” on the cover of the first book, “why is there an extra? There's only three from what I've heard—and as they say, anything past a trilogy blows,” you said somewhat smugly, finger now swirling along the “2” cover.  
“I mean, unless it's a different version, like 10th edition, revised,” you huffed, curving around the “3”.

“Hm?”  
You rubbed the third book again.

“That's odd, it feels...different. As if they used another material.”

Studying the covers more closely, you noticed something interesting.  
All three had their numbers superimposed on a hand, and, for whatever reason, the hands were six-fingered.

That is, except for the third, which had a more normal set of five.

With a spark in your eyes, you flipped through the third book.  
Some of the pages seemed relatively normal, but most were a mess of text and scribbles on top of each other.

Reaching the page you were looking for, you saw it.

A circle around the number 326 and the words “not only” scrawled in a tiny space nearby.

That confirmed your suspicions.

You used to, ahem, _know a guy_ who did a brief counterfeiting stint and one of the things he learned from it is that most blacklight inks appear when photocopied, giving away the forgery.

And give away the forgery it did.

You closed the poorly-made copy and began to mull over the implications and consequences of it, but suddenly your conscience reminded you that you still had less-universal responsibilities that had to be done, as in getting your ass home.

 

Grabbing the three books and tucking them under your arm, you went back from whence you came, taking care to check the area before leaving the safety of the false vending machine.

On your way out the window, the coolest way to escape, you wondered why Bill hadn't popped by to say “Congrats, now gimme the books,” while you were there. Or why he hadn't been able to get them himself in the first place.

_He was able to show up in Stan's room_ , you reasoned, speedwalking towards your house, _So why not there...?_

Slipping through the living room window (a still-cool yet less-practical entrance due to having a key) you continued.

_Maybe there's some kind of protection enchantment. Like a “no soliciting” sign that actually keeps out those Jehovah's Witnesses._

Tiptoeing upstairs and down the hall, your feet barely touched the inside of your room when it became that familiar gray.

“Well, I think some congratulations are in order!” Cheered that familiar voice from your bed.

There, Bill laid on his front, elbows propped and legs kicking behind him, like a kid in a Christmas photo.  
Might as well have been Christmas, too, by the way his eye gleamed with excitement.

“I can't believe you got 'em all, toots! Even the one Pine Tree was always trying to protect!”

“Actually—”

“Tell me how you did it!” He shot, appearing on your crossed arms holding the books in front of you.

“Actually,” he said, pointing a finger to his face, “I don't care!”

With that, he zipped to the center of the room and raised his arms skyward.

A cold wind somehow blew against you and carried the books into the air, surrounding the radiating demon.

“Here's a-one!” He snapped, the first book sparking open.

“And a-two!” He repeated, the second following suit.

“And a—” He stopped.

“Wait, what's wrong with this one?” He panned, studying the cover.

“That's what I wanted to talk about,” you finally managed, “I found these in Stan's secret bunker, but apparently the third one is a copy of the book in Dipper's possession. Which begs the question, how much have you been messing with those kids? An adult, fine, but _kids_?”

“You modern women just can't keep to your own business, can ya?” Bill pouted, hands on his hips.

Your glare intensified. “Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn, _friend_.”

“Whatever,” he waved dismissively, “All you need to know is that they've been a thorn in my side, but it's not like I'd _actually_ hurt them,” he lied.

“Look, they're not my focus anymore now that I have these puppies, alright?”

“But the third—”

“Don't sweat it, sweetcheeks. Just one is useless without the other two. But now that that's all cleared up...”

He raised his arms again, and with the bright burst of a cold flame above his hands, the final book flipped open, and an intense gust ripped out each installments' pages, bringing them into a small whirlwind around the cackling demon.

“Yes, yes!” He cried, his pupil flickering so quickly back and forth between the papers that you could barely see it, nevermind the screeching wind stinging your eyes.

A blue fire grew, unaffected by the gale, soon engulfing his entire body and (you instinctively jumped back for your safety) the papers, slowly starting to singe on their edges.

He firmly shut his eyelid and sprung it open, a blinding light disintegrating the parchments.

“ _Ahahahahaha! Hahahahaha!_ Finally, I got it!”

It took you a moment to realize your mouth was agape the whole time and struggled to compose yourself, rubbing your still-aching eyes.

Bill rushed up to you and grabbed your wrists, his eye twinkling towards yours.

“I need one last thing from you.”

“Which is...?”

“I need you to love me.”

Your face quickly burned faster than any fire.

“ _Uhhhhh_ ,” you drawled, overwhelmed by the painfully cliched trope and the possibility that he was trying to imply something that you weren't sure if you could handle if he were.

“I-no...I mean...God, Bill, I...”

“Hahaha! Just kidding, toots!” He giggled sadistically, dropping his grip.

_Of course he was joking. I don't know why I expected any different._

“Nah, what I really need from ya,” he poised, taking a seat on your head, “is just some blood.”

“Yeesh, you needed the books to figure _that_ out? I don't even know what this is for, but I've seen enough movies to know that's pretty much the number one cliché component of whatever demons do.”

“I hope you don't really think of me as that stupid,” he muttered, kicking back his feet to your forehead (which was very underwhelming, more akin to a tapping).

“Y'see, apparently some jackass thinks it's funny for it to need a little blood sacrifice—er, donation—from someone who's sincerely willing. And the dead ain't willing, let alone the living.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah, so, just grab a needle and poke whichever pretty little finger you want. All it needs is a drop.”

“ _Hmmm_...”

“What, you lookin' for something extra, Princess? C'mon.”

“I guess I could do it,” you smirked mischievously, “If...you tell me what this is for.”

“That's all you want?”

“Yup, I'm pretty sure I'll only need one ' _anything I want_ ' voucher with what I'm gonna do. 'Sides, I've always hated secrets.”

“Why can't you just wait and find out?”

“So you _don't_ want me to help?”

Bill heaved a sigh and growled, “It's just so I can have a physical form, okay? Like a humanoid form. So I can, y'know, finally do people stuff. Like jacking off! Pine Tree does it a lot, so it must be fun, right? That's why. Now get to stabbin'.”

The latter end almost made you regret asking, but you were intrigued.

“You're a powerful entity of energy and you want to be human? I mean, it gets old fast. Especially if you eat Thai food.”

“It's not just...” He started, and then mumbled into his hands, “Ugh, I swear to geometry, this is too hard.”

You felt the top of your head get warmer and you bit your bottom lip, figuring it was a touchy subject for him—which was really something, all things considered.

“Fine, fine, I'll do it.”

Bill sprang to life and wound his right hand, a sewing needle appearing.

“Here ya go, just prick it and drop some of that red stuff in this,” he snapped and a large cauldron, already to the brim with things like legs, arms, and other indiscernible pieces.

If you didn't feel like you were trapped in the wrong side of a cheesy B-movie before, you definitely did now.

You grabbed the tiny silver rod and, with some due hesitation, pierced the tip of your middle finger (which served as a little “fuck you” to what used to be your sense of normalcy).

The puncture was very slight, but nevertheless caused a scarlet droplet to build and then fall into the large black pot.

You had already stepped back, expecting a formulaic puff of smog in the form of a skull, or the cauldron to rumble and burst, or, god forbid, it comes to life and starts talking about a bear and a bird.

Instead, it just sat there.

You briefly wondered if he was selling short by saying it only needed “a drop,” and were about to voice it when Bill made a solid-eight dive into the odd chutney.

Then came the theatrics.

The enormous bowl began to spin at a rate that would give you motion sickness were your gut any weaker.

It began to rise into midair, a booming, maniacal laugh coming from within.

What happened next, you hadn't a clue, since it began strobing the harshest lights you ever had the misfortune of seeing, which made you shut your already rendered-useless eyes.

Your ears were still intact, so you listened in to some groaning, bones cracking, and screams that sounded more ecstatic than pained.

Then, a blast.

Thank God for the Dreamscape, or Gravity Falls would've been flattened.

You felt yourself slammed into a wall, and all you could hear was a high-pitched tone resonating through your brain.

Unsure of anything outside of the darkness of your eyelids, you less-than-eagerly opened them.

You had to blink furiously to get rid of the haze in your vision and the sudden return of color to your room.

But as soon as it returned, you were greeted by...the result.

A naked man sprawled out on your bed, giving you the biggest shit-eater grin you'd ever witnessed.

“Whaddaya know, _it worked!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is hard.  
> Also sometimes I think I make too many jokes that no one will get.  
> Whatever, enjoy. 


	10. WULDQJOH QR PRUH

You tried in vain to restrain yourself from ogling the man.

He—Bill—had a bronze-skinned, lanky body with sweeping golden locks matched by his twinkling gold irises (his right eye seemed to be clouded by a cataract or something similar) and a decently-sized appendage.  
Not that you were looking.

On the other hand, Bill definitely was having a field day exploring every inch of his new form.

“Man, look at this! Everything is so much bigger than Pine Tree's! Especially this thing,” he beamed, pointing his hands toward his crotch.

You flushed and shook your head, vaguely recalling the twins mentioning some puppet ordeal.

“Still,” he noted, moving a hand closer and further from his eyes, “Don't seem to have that depth-perception thing. Guess my one eye didn't translate well,” he shrugged.

“That may be true,” you noncommittally agreed, averting eye contact, “But we need to get you some clothes, because this is getting awkward for me.”

Bill jumped to his feet (“ah, right, gravity”) and put his fists to his hips. “I don't get what's up with you humans being so afraid of nudity! You never seemed to mind when I was in my old body!”

You turned to the wall behind you, your face almost melting. “I don't expect you to understand, and I'm not going to waste my time explaining. Just go with me on this.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “But, hate to break it to ya, toots, we're not exactly the same size.”

He had a point. The man looked somewhat older than you, though not too far past mid-twenties, and had a number of inches on you. His build wasn't exactly compatible with your wardrobe.

“Well,” you mused, “We have a box downstairs full of my grandfather's old clothes, since he was such a packrat. I could bring it up and you could dig through it.”

Bill gave an unenthusiastic “cool” and sat back down on your squeaky mattress.

You crept out your room and down the stairs, your brain still unsure if you were in the real world (though by the sight of a long-leg spider passing by confirmed you were), and scanned the marker labels on each box before plucking up the one marked “Our [lame] Inheritance,” clearly written by your sibling.

You almost forgot how heavy clothes can be when compacted so tightly in cardboard confines, but managed to heave the box upstairs anyway.

Pushing the door open with your rear, you swung around and found Bill rummaging through your drawers.

He pulled out one of your lace bras and coyly remarked, “Man, I never understood why you chicks buy these fancy things when they go under your clothes.”

You furrowed your brows and bit your bottom lip, stomping over to your bed to put the box down, refusing to acknowledge a naked man toying with your lingerie.

Opening the box and dumping the contents on your mattress, you saw plenty of clothes that had the potential to fit him, and even some shoes.

“Here, look through these,” you offered, turning toward him, “...and take that off.”

Bill pouted, tossing the bra back to your dresser. He strode up to the spread and glazed over the clothes, styles varying from formal to disco. “How...eclectic,” he noted. “I like it!”

He began to wholeheartedly shuffle through them, throwing away the ones he deemed “too gaudy,” and holding others against his body, getting a little disappointed when some nice ones weren't his size.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight of it. A demon capable of incomprehensible destruction, now squealing like a child at the discovery of a bowtie.

As you stood back, arms folded across your chest, you enjoyed watching the craning man move, his eyes glistening and his adam's apple subtly bobbing as he made remarks on each piece.

It would be a lie to say you weren't checking him out to some extent, anyone would be enamored by the transformation of a powerful tortilla chip into some kind of handsome, blonde Aladdin.

Or something to that extent, you were more focused on what he looked like, not whom.

Rather randomly, Bill's stomach growled like a motorcycle.

He turned to you with wide eyes.

“That...felt weird.”

You couldn't resist grinning, feeling like you had an intellectual upper hand.

“That, my dear Billy-boy, (he winced) just means you need to eat,” you confidently decreed, “I mean, you're body's pretty empty, I'm sure ya need something.”

“Another reason why being mortal is so passé, needing that food stuff to function,” he scoffed with an upturn of his slim nose.

“What, were you just always full of energy all the time? That sounds like cheap godmodding.”

He flashed a confused look and fessed, “Technically, devouring dreams is more a necessity than part of the job, but I've tried people soda before and,” he dramatically gagged, “highly overrated.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, already headed to the door, “I'll make some food, meet me down the stairs when you're dressed.”

He gave a grunt in reply, and you were gone.

After you flipped on some lights and waltzed into the kitchen, seeing the oven clock stare you down, you had the scathing memory that you not only had other people in the house, but also you had to feed them to appease imminent motherly wrath.

_My brain would probably function better if I actually got sleep and weren't messing with the damn supernatural..._ You groaned, _I don't know how to go about any of this. I need a shrink._

You continued to huff complaints and ideas to yourself while starting up the coffee maker and cooking enough pancakes, eggs, and sausages to feed the Brangelina family.

As usual, time seemed to pass more quickly behind some pans and a spatula, and the smell of good home cooking began to wake the house.

You were about halfway through your mug when you heard your sibling just about fly down the staircase, taking their usual spot at the table.

“So, Latey T McGee, what's cookin'?” They smirked, knowing you were in some shit.

“Food.”

“Mom?”

“You know it,” you chuckled, being able to share a bond with them over your mutual way of ass-kissing your way out of a mess, “And I'll bite, what's the 'T' for?”

“Tea? But I want coffee!” They lamely quipped. “Nah, but it's for trouble. You should've heard her storming around last night.”

Picking up on their line, you passed them a mug of their own joe, black. “Yeah, but she loves me enough to look past it. But will she—”

“Be able to look past the _perilous peak of pancakes_? You've done this so many times it's laughable, you know.” They teased, then suddenly changing their focus to the coffee. And you knew why.

“Well, well, well.” Your mother grumbled, stomping into the dining room. “Nice of you to come home.”

“Oh, _mother_ ,” you intoned in your best yesman voice, “I don't know what you're talking about! Home is where the heart is, and I'm always in yours, right?”

She grumbled, clearly disinterested without any sacrificial food offerings.

You quickly brought out all the plates full of food—the terrible tower of tancakes ( _I need to write that one down!_ ) almost toppling—and presented them to the table, being sure to ready her favorite mug with her coffee and cream just how she liked it.

With everything set, you sat down and indulged in a few flapjacks before expectantly staring at your mother, hands folded and your cheesiest smile on.

“Now, you know I worry about you,” she chided, mouth full, “But I know you're an 'adult' by voting standards and that might get to your head,” she swallowed, immediately forking in another sausage, “I can respect that you want to have fun and see things back in your hometown, and I guess the move has been rough on you kids, so I think I'll let this slide.”

With a sigh of relief, you smugly leaned back into your chair.

_Phew, I'm in the clear. Temporarily, at least._

Of course, “temporarily” can mean any time frame from a few seconds to a few years.

And unluckily for you, it wasn't the latter.

“Hey, kid, I couldn't find any of those underwear-things, so I borrowed one of yours, 'kay?”

Bill swung around the corner, approaching the table in a dress shirt, black pants, and, of course, a bow tie. You would've bugged him for picking something so formal, but you were too turned to stone.

It was going to happen at some point.

Your mother whipped her head to face the dapper blonde and gave a telling, forced smile, while your sibling simply stared, fork in their mouth.

“Hey, these are people you're related to?” He asked with a point of his thumb, as if they couldn't see him, “I figured if you shared the same DNA they'd be a lot uglier. Ha!”

You shrank in your seat, your sibling choked on laughter, and your mother, she turned to you with such a scary face that it was as if she were trying out for a Japanese horror.

“Who's this, sweetie?”

“He's, ah, he's—”

“Bill Cipher,” he smiled graciously, bowing and reaching out his hand. “Nice to meet'cha.”

“Oh, my,” she softened, shaking his hand, “Well, nice to meet you, Bill. I'm,” she quickly leered at you, “That trouble-maker's mother. Have a seat, why don't you?”

He took his cue and sat to your right, directly across from your mother.

“Ooh, this people food smells nice!” He announced, grabbing a bit of each with his hands and stuffing it right into his mouth.

“You know, this stuff ain't half-bad!” He gargled out from his stuffed mouth. “Good job there, sweetcheeks.”

Your sibling was poorly trying to stifle their laughs while your mother simply stared at you, bug-eyed and mouth twitching.

Your face burned. Funny thing with your life is that you were daring enough to do a lot of things, a lot of dumb things, at that, and you wouldn't bat an eyelash. Until your mother was involved.

“Aren't you going to tell us about our lovely guest?” She asked, giving off a terrifying vibe. “Such as... the reason behind him being in our house this early in the morning after a night of your absence?”

Looking to Bill for something to work off of, you saw he was too engulfed in, well, engulfing everything in sight.

But at least she gave you something to work off of.

“Ah, you see, he's... I met him some days back and we've been hanging out a lot, and one of those times just so happened to be overnight.”

That brat across from you snorted.

“So, you've been...intimate?” Your mother emphasized that last word. She never trusted you with men after you fell into the cliché of sex on prom night with a guy whom she despised, so she was somewhat rightfully pissed.

Your sibling crashed their face onto the table, shaking from laughter.

“God, no!”

“What else do you want me to expect if you're out all night with some mysterious boyfriend of yours?!”

Slack-jawed, you turned to Bill, whose attention was caught by that last question.

He smiled wickedly at the embarrassment on your face and sloped his arm around your neck.

“Oh, we were up all night doing that,” he paused, “What's that thing called with the ropes? Bondage? Man, this girl is such a squealer!”

You fought the urge to strangle him right then and there.

“Do I need to tell your father about this?” Your mother threatened, knowing that even past their separation, he was invested in his kids, and wouldn't stand to hear it.

“Mom. I swear to every deity that he's lying. I swear.”

“Ah, c'mon, toots! No need to hide your love for me! What about last night where you said, and I quote, 'fuck me 'til I'm dead, and keep screwing the corpse'?”

“Jesus Christ! Mother Mary, Joseph, and the three Wise Men!” Your mother was about to have an aneurysm.

Your sibling couldn't handle the laughing fits and shakily left the room.

You wildly smiled at that bastard next to you and said through grated teeth, “You're in a human body now. I can and will kill you if you don't take that back.”

He sighed and whispered a quick “killjoy” before addressing your mom, who was clutching her heart.

“Just kidding, only half of that—” you kicked him, “Ah, that was all a joke. I'm actually a novelist, and I wanted to get some help with accurately representing a woman's perspective, but, you see, the hours fly when you're with all those ideas, words, and a good friend. When I offered to take her back home, I guess I just passed out from fatigue. Not much sleep in the world of writing.”

Mother Dearest straightened up and cleared her throat, “Oh. I see. You're clearly, er, imaginative enough for that job. And a sharp dresser. So I'll believe you.”

“But you, missy,” she said, shifting her attention, “Why didn't you just call me and tell me?”

“My phone died?” You sheepishly offered.

She seemed to mull it over and admitted, “Fair point. Just...call me next time.”

“Of, of course, Ma.”

“Good. Now, I have to get ready. Take care of these dishes and...get your man some underwear, he must need some new boxers if he'd joke about wearing yours,” She smiled, leaving back to her room.

You stared at the direction in which she'd left, shocked how well that went.

“Oof, I think I ate too much. Is that even possible?”

Your snapped back to reality, for lack of a better word, and raved, “Bill! That was so smooth! Though you're still a cocksucker for that other part. And you were joking about wearing my panties, right?”

The blonde grinned and said nothing.

“ _Bill!_ ” You hit his arm, giving a disbelieving laugh.

“I cannot confirm or deny that,” he shrugged, still smiling. “'Sides, lying is what I do. Hell, most of my deals are lies.”

You squinted your eyes at him accusingly.

“Ours wasn't, I swear!” He burst out, waving his hands, still sticky from the food. “Trust me on this one, you'll get what you want.”

You rolled your eyes at his messiness and pulled him to the kitchen sink, seizing the opportunity, “So, then...can I redeem my reward now?”

“About that,” he lowered his voice, following your lead of washing hands with the flowery soap.

He took a while to answer, so you shoved him a towel, repeating, “I _am_ going to get my end of the deal, right?”

“Yes. And no. Taking a form like this is incredibly taxing, and there are limitations to what I can do. Like this,” he flicked his hand, creating a poor excuse for a flame that dissipated in seconds.  
“Can't do that because this body gets affected, as shown by this little burn.”

“God, careful! How did that not hurt?” You worriedly snapped, holding his hand.

“Eh, my pain threshold is way different. In a way, I enjoy pain.”

You looked up at him questioningly, and then shook your head back down, softly rubbing the reddish palm, mumbling, “I don't get you.”

“Point is, toots, I don't, and won't, have enough power to do much anything like that for a while.”

Your pressure tensed, causing the man to flinch.

“So now I'm stuck with some useless ex-demon who has no background, job, or home, on top of still having to wait for my goddamn wish? You have no clue how much I've invested in this!”

Bill feigned an offended face and pouted, “Useless _ex_ -demon? That hurts, you know, I'm still fully-fledged.” He added, “And don't call it a wish, I'm not some flamboyant genie.”

You growled, mad at this delay in schedule, and walked away.

“Whatever. I still have a job to go to. Do something with yourself.”

At the top of the stairs, you absent-mindedly added, “And not in my house.”

You made a quick trip to the bathroom to relieve yourself when you caught a whiff of yourself and decided on a quick shower.

The warm water was a fantastic way to sooth your nerves, and the fruity soaps made you feel fully refreshed.

You slipped out and grabbed towels for your body and hair, and dripped across the floors and into your room. Thankfully, Bill-the-useless-Meatbag wasn't in there, so went ahead with drying yourself off and rummaging for clothes.

You put on a nice brassiere and found, after shifting through your panty drawer, that you indeed were missing a certain black pair. With an annoyed sigh, you put on a striped one. Then came the tough part of choosing clothes.

You settled on a sweater and leggings, and was barely beginning to pull up the bottoms when Bill swung through the door. He noticed your underdressed appearance and opened his mouth to make a snide remark when you simply glared at him and hissed, “Not doing this overdone setup. This isn't a porno.”

His smile faltered in confusion and he stepped back out, but not before sticking out his tongue.

You rolled your eyes and finished getting dressed while muttering under your breath, “C'mon, these cliché plot conveniences are getting old.”

 

Soon enough, you were ready and out the door, not giving any goodbyes to avoid any contact with your family until the morning had rolled out of memory.

You returned to the Shack with an odd feeling after discovering what was behind that broken vending machine and stealing three mystic books.

_But, hey, they couldn't know it was me. Stan's too cheap to buy surveillance._

Speaking of the old man, you attempted to avoid all possible eye-contact so you could avoid mentioning last night.

That didn't seem too hard, however, since all Stan seemed to do after tours was pace angrily, snapping at more customers than usual.

“Hey, hey!”

You looked to your side and saw Mabel looking at you, starry-eyed.

“You got it, right? Right?”

_It? What 'it' is she..._ “Oh, that picture? Yeah! Give me your number and I'll send it to you.” You quickly tacked on, “Don't ask me how, I have my ways.”

The girl gave a bit of a giggle and said all too suspiciously, “Oh, I won't.”

With some quick taps on your phone, you sent the image, and she ecstatically thanked you (after gagging a bit at the photo itself) and skipped off to show Dipper.

_At least that's one less thing to worry about, right...?_

The entrance to the Shack flipped open, and an overly-confident, copper-skinned blonde strode inside.

“ _Hello_ , Mystery Shack!”

Of course. One step forward, two steps back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man, i probably shouldn't write when i'm so tired, it's probably shit.
> 
> anywho, something, something, hope you guys liked it.


	11. BRX DVVFORZQ!

The distinct, booming announcement was met with many stares (minus yours, as you slammed your face onto the counter).

But more importantly, it caused Stan to whip around and flip up his unnecessary eyepatch to shrewdly examine the guy.

Because the voice was coming from a man rather than an isosceles monster, the old man angrily growled, “Do I know you?”

You lifted your head, partially relieved but still terrified of what Bill might give away.

He must've either noticed your horrified face in his peripheral or expertly discovered an advantage in this situation, or both, because what he loudly replied with wasn't “I'm that demon that's been haunting your family and your weaselly employee helped me gain a tangible form.”

Rather, he shouted with a dumbass smile, “ _Nope!_ I am just _really_ excited to be here! Boy, do I love oddities! Like this,” he picked up a rather uninteresting snowglobe, “ _Wow_ , does it snow in there! How amazing!”

You stared, mouth hanging, at his shitty acting. Hoping Stan would just blow him off as a quirky sound-alike (you'd met a tourist who sounded just like Soos the other day, it was possible!) You were relieved when he, too, stared at the grinning blonde in disbelief and eventually muttered a, “Okay, just buy something and leave,” returning to his huffy pacing.

Bill walked the snowglobe over to your counter and placed in on the side, smugly waiting for you to flatter his quick thinking.

“What were you thinking? Why are you here?” You hissed just above a whisper.

His smile faltered into a pout. “Well, gee, I thought you would enjoy me visiting. Besides, reading your diary got boring after the fifteenth page of your pity party.”

Your face reddened as you leaned closer, desperately holding back your hands from doing something illegal, “ _Don't. Touch. That. Again._ ”

“Why? It's not like I don't already know all that stuff in there. Funny part of you giving me your blood for this,” he made a sweeping gesture to himself, “Is that it also formed a bond that gives me access to all of your thoughts and memories.”

“ _What_ ,” you spat, nails digging into the wooden countertop.

“Yeah, and lemme say, I don't blame you for repressing those middle-school memories. _Yeesh_.”

Your shot up and you opened your mouth to curse him, but he already smoothly dodged away, wondering aloud if he could get “that old coot” to sell him the eyepatch.

With a grumble, you lowered down onto a stool and shook your head, mouthing many colorful synonyms for “Bill”.

“There's something weird about that guy.”

You nearly jumped off your seat at the unexpected sound of Mabel, who was now by your side.

“Like the way he sounds just like a _certain someone_?” Dipper implied, joining his sister in spying over the counter.

“I was gonna say it's because it looks like he dyes his hair, he dresses like it's the 40s, and he has that weird eye, but...that works too!” Mabel firmly nodded.

“I dunno, you guys,” you coyly shrugged, “I've seen weirder tourists. Remember last week, the Dolly Parton wannabe with lips the size of hot dogs?”

Mabel snickered, but her determined brother shook his head. “Trust me, you wouldn't understand if I told you with picture support. Plus,” he turned to you with a suspicious raised brow. “What was he talking to you about? You seemed to get pretty heated up.”

_God, I forgot how observant this kid is,_ you thought with a plastered, guilty smile, I swear, _if he noticed anything else beforehand..._

“To be honest, he's, uh, actually a guy I used to know in my old high school,” You fluidly lied, “He's just a bit of an ass and likes to bring back old memories.”

Dipper didn't seem fully convinced, but his twin lit up like a yenta in a sewing circle and jabbed you with her elbow.

“So he's an ex, _huh_? His hair is so nice I took him for more of a fruit,” She shrugged noncommittally, “Ooh, izzat why you broke up? He left you for a guy? Just like on TV, right?”

She began eagerly badgering you with all sorts of questions that led in to stories of her own brushes with romance—which, for her age, the amount was almost as surprising as who they were. I mean, really, a puppeteer?

Over her swaying head, you saw Dipper slink away to not-so-subtly follow Bill as he ignored all the “do not touch” signs and pestered a very annoyed Stan for a sale.

Mabel eventually finished recanting her life story (which you didn't fully pay attention to from ringing up various customers) and fell silent, an all-knowing, mischievous smirk growing on her face.

“So, I was up putting makeup on Waddles last night...”

You were about to run off for a “bathroom break,” but you knew you'd be bitched at for breaking policy by leaving to leave a packed store. _Goddammit._

“O-Oh? I hope you didn't use clashing eyeshadow and lipstick.” You tried to steer the conversation from where it was inevitably going.

“Pfft, I'm a makeup _artiste_. Plus, that wasn't all I was doing,” she paused, waiting for a customer to finish paying, “I heard Grunkle Stan spending quality time with a ladyfriend.”

You averted your flushed face and strained, “Wow, really? You sure he didn't leave on some kind of video?”

“Nu-uh,” Mabel energetically shook her head, “He made Soos get rid of 'em once Dips experimentally watched one.”

It was almost creepy how nonchalant this twelve-year-old was.

“Anyway, is that how you got that photo?” She purred, face twisted evilly.

“Hah, God, no, why would you even suspect that? I'd never do something like that.” You embarrassedly clenched your fists so hard your nails pierced the skin.

“Ah, c'mon, I won't tell anyone! It's actually pretty smart,” she nodded, “Though I gotta say, I didn't know there were many hookers for hire in this town.”

Sweet Jesus, thank you for this child's imagination.

Your face returned to its usual shade, if not slightly pinker, and you swiftly replied, “Oh, well then, thanks! But you know how it is, can't let the cops know. That's why they're so hard to find. Probably.”

“See? I knew you were awesome from day one! I don't know why Dippy has to be so cynical.”

“Mm,” you shrugged, knowing he wasn't wrong to be wary of who to trust. “I'm guessing he knows about the hooker, too, right?” You absentmindedly added.

“Yeah, but he got all awkward and left our bedroom because it was 'too distracting' or whatever.”

You sputtered a bit of laughter and looked over to said boy, who was to be leading a very cheerful Bill to the register.

“Grunkle Stan said to charge him fifteen for the eyepiece and another five for being annoying,” Dipper impatiently pointed to the man with his thumb, clearly upset about something.

You were worried Bill would ask you to pay for it, but he instead whipped out a wallet and handed you a twenty.

Slowly, confusedly taking it and putting it in the cash drawer, you tried to give him a nagging, “whose wallet is this” glare, but he was too busy putting the eyepatch on over his bad eye.

“Finally, much better than the world looking half-blurry all the time!” He grinned, not looking like he was going to leave any time soon.

“So, bub,” Mabel piped up, “You like dudes? Because I know like, five perfect guys with dubious preference.” She determinedly added, “I saw one make out with a tree.”

Bill raised an eyebrow and seemed to give it some thought before shrugging, “Eh, I can't say. Haven't met much any handsome guys. Except the one in the mirror! Ha!”

Dipper gave an audible groan, growing sick of that guy already.

“Yeesh, Pin—” The boy's eyes widened. “Ah, _Pin_ t-sized jealousy monster. Don't worry, you're pretty cute, find me in ten years,” He laughed, pushing down the brunette's cap.

Angrily removing his hat and placing it neatly back on his head, Dipper leered, “What did you say your name was?”

“John Galt,” Bill smiled, doing a dramatic bow, “Nice to meet your Highness, King Jelly.”

Almost immediately, he and Mabel burst into fits of laughter, sending a red-faced Dipper storming away. You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hold back a small smirk.

“Gee, John, you're a riot,” the girl said, wiping away a tear, “Now I _really_ wanna know why you two broke up.”

Bill briefly wore a confused face before seeing yours flush and you hid in your hands.

“Oh, is _that_ what she's telling everyone? My, my, hon, I'm hurt,” He shook his head, though clearly grinning. “I wish you weren't so ashamed of our love, we already live together!”

_He never seems to let a chance to embarrass me go by..._

You could almost swear Stan looked your way.

Mabel squealed and turned to you, eyes twinkling, “No way! That's so cute! I could totally picture you two together sharing some mac 'n cheese!”

“I'd love to share a bowl right in his face,” you hissed, making his toothy smile widen.

“See, Shooting Star? She's so hateful,” Bill pouted.

“ _Shooting Star?_ ” Mabel tilted her head, slowly computing.

Dipper's head popped out from the shirt rack and, pointing, he shouted an, “ _Aha!_ ”

“Er,” Bill quickly jolted into nervousness (or, as much as his cocky self could be) and sputtered a rushed, “This was fun, but I gotta head out now! See ya at home, toots.”

He bolted out the door, but not before giving you what you think was a wink.

The boy ran after him, shouting wildly things such as, “I know it's you, body snatcher!” and “Chasing you is probably a terrible idea but I'm doing it anyway!” Along with other phrases you assumed he picked up from Stan.

You shared a blank stare with Mabel, who shrugged her shoulders.

“He thinks ol' Johnny-boy is just this dangerous triangle demon in disguise.”

“Oh,” you thickly swallowed, “i-is that so?”

“Yeah, but anyone with hair that beautiful can't be evil.”

 

The next hour or so consisted of you telling Mabel half-baked stories about your fake relationship to satisfy her relentless curiosity, or at least to the point where she lost interest and went to bug Soos.

During a lull in business, the front door swung open and in entered a very tired-looking, panting Dipper.

“I was so close! So close. But then he bolted into that club, and I didn't have my fake ID to get in, so then I was gonna wait it out, but then I managed to sneak under some guy's trenchcoat and it ends up he ran out the back—But I swear! I _will_ get that guy!”

At some point in that line of thought you were concerned, but more for him having a card than his determination.

“Dips, I'm pretty sure he's just a regular guy,” you flatly lied, “I've known him for a few years.”

The boy glared at you with suspicion. “Then I'm going to find it out: _who is John Galt?_ Definitely not a normal person, that's for sure!”

You gave a weak smile knowing you wouldn't be able to dissuade his persistence.

 

The rest of your shift was relatively uneventful, but as soon as it ended, you darted out, not wanting to be stuck in any awkwardness.

You took a detour in the town to avoid going home any earlier than you had to, especially if it meant having to put up with Bill's mischief.

The sign of your old favorite cafe was in view, so you went in an ordered something nice for yourself: macaroni. It wasn't your favorite dish, but you didn't want to take up too much time ordering, and that was the most recent food you thought about.

It wasn't like the cheap, boxed stuff you were used to, so it took all your self-control not to wolf it all down. And with extra thanks to the soothing ambiance music, you felt more relaxed than you had been in a long while.

Of course, that brief calmness is always just a precedent for the universe kicking dirt in your face.

Gliding into the chair across from you was Bill, looking as smug as ever.

“Why,” was all you could coldly muster, throwing your hands to the air in defeat.

“Love the enthusiasm,” he quipped, “I told you about that whole me-accessing-your-thoughts thing, right? Well, I just so happened to know you desperately missed me, so I decided to show up!”

You stared at him, unimpressed.

“Alright, I knew you had food and I was hungry,” he mumbled, leaning back into the chair in defeat.

Your appetite had mostly been replaced by anguish when he showed up, so you shoved the bowl towards him and folded your arms, looking out the left-hand window, avoiding watching his rendition of “eating”.

The passerby were mostly old faces, so it was somewhat of a game to compare how much a person changed since you were last here.

The kids definitely had changed, though somehow the Northwest heir still looked as bratty as she did as a toddler.

That cutesy biker guy ( _Skyler? Tyler?_ ) was still parading after Manly Dan, though Dan was noticeably less gruff lately. You shrugged it off, giving a moment to wonder if he finally took notice of his small admirer.

_Must be nice_ , you thought.

Bill choked, and you gave him a glance.

“Forgot how to swallow, is all,” he innocently smiled, patting his stomach.

“Right. Just be careful, human bodies aren't exactly immortal, bucko,” you joshed.

“Tch, I'll keep that in mind,” he rolled his eye, stuffing in another forkful of pasta (thankfully he figured out utensils).

Your attention flickered to his eyepatch. As gaudy as it was, it somehow fit his face perfectly.

But you didn't want Bill to catch onto your thought and returned to watching the sidewalk outside.

Unfortunately, streets seemed to be empty, not counting the occasional new face walking by.

It was boring. All the excitement lately had made you secreylu become addicted to it—or, rather, _him_.

After all, if it weren't for Bill, you'd probably be in front of a computer right now, whittling your life away.

You looked back over to him with a smile that quickly faltered when you saw him licking the bowl.

“ _Bill!_ ”

“What? It's good!” He enthused, giving it another lick. “And now it's gone!”

“Do you have any clue what manners are?”

“Hey! I know lots 'a things, doesn't mean I adhere to 'em!”

You gave a small sigh and scanned over the mess on his face, which warranted a more irritated huff.

Grabbing a napkin and giving it a quick dip in your water, you leaned into his face and wiped off the schmutz on his cheeks, nose, and goatee.

The proximity must've caught him off guard, because you heard the slightest hitch in his breath and saw a slight twitch of his lips when your hand came nearby.

Satisfied, you sat back in your chair and teased, “I know your face about as appealing as an old rag, but that doesn't mean you need to use it as one!”

He didn't respond, just blankly looked at you, searching for words.

“What?”

He finally grumbled, “Don't do that again, I can clean myself.”

You stifled a snort, “Seriously?”

And serious he was, a slight, warm tinge of frustration on his cheeks.

“It's belittling. I'm a being of pure energy, not a helpless kid.”

You laughed, but resisted the urge to correct him.

It was cute, he was so sensitive about being a dominant entity that he was reduced to acting like an upset child.

With a quick glance to your phone, you decided it was a good enough time to head home, so the two of you finished up and left.

By strange impulse, you grabbed Bill's hand and led him through some shortcuts you knew as a kid, successfully making it to the front door in half the time it'd normally take.

It wasn't until you had to unlock the door that you realized your hands were still intertwined.

_Oh, this whole time, he's, we've..._

He slithered his fingers away from yours and made an impatient hum, prompting you to shuffle through your bottomless bag for the key and undoing the lock.

With some silent hesitation, you happily realized you were home before anyone else, which made bringing Bill in much easier.

You locked the door behind the two of you and shuffled up the stairs and into your newly-messy room.

Under your intense glare, he attempted to shift the blame to you, saying, “Hey, shouldn't've left me alone.”

“Nice try, but you're going to help me clean this place.”

It was somewhat of a good thing, considering how many things still hadn't been put away even before Hurricane Bill struck, so you got right to work.

 

The cheeky blonde only pretended to be cleaning, though, as he was more interested in asking about every little thing he was moving around.

“Like this, what even is it?” He held a familiar item, turning it as if something would appear at the right angle.

“It's an old Pollock painting I got from a cousin,” you explained, suppressing your annoyance, “I don't really think it's supposed to make sense. Just some kinda anger management on a canvas.”

“Feh, I've met better artists,” he spat, tossing the painting to the corner.

He crawled around for more objects and found a particularly intriguing one under your bed.

“Oh-ho- _ho_! Is this what I think it is?”

You whipped your head around, and before you could fear it, the worst had happened.

_My life has become a shitty sitcom, hasn't it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, we're going full steam ahead to hell, baby. _choo choo._


	12. DV'IV TLRMT GL SVOO ULI GSRH

Bill stood, tracing his fingers over that _very embarrassing object_ in his hands.

“Huh,” he furrowed his brow in thought for what was felt like an excruciating eternity.

“I...I can explain,” you stuttered, quickly moving to snag that item out of his hands.

He tightened his grip and maintained his hold, finally breaking his chain of thought.

“Good, because I thought this was some kinda keepsake you got from killing a guy, but it's so neon and rubbery. Nothing like mine.” He almost anxiously added, “Unless I have a defective one!”

You choked out a laugh, but it was more out of nerves than his naivete.

_It's okay_ , you thought to yourself, fingers twitching, _I'll convince him it's a...gag gift. Yeah, something like that. As long as he doesn't know it's a sex toy._

Bill's eye flickered away from the magenta toy and stared into yours. “Wait, you mean it has to do with that?”

You mentally slapped yourself. _Right_.

“And this...this was... _inside_ —?!” He immediately tore away his hands, allowing that thing to fall.

Strange. You'd expected him to laugh his head off (maybe even literally), but by the tint on his cheeks, it was almost as if _he_ was embarrassed. For once, _he_ was uncomfortable. By something so natural!

You were all too eager to let a chance for payback pass by.

Leaning in with one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his bearded chin, you cooed in your best Stevie Nicks impression, “Inside me? Wouldn't you like to know.”

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly bent down to retrieve that sinful object, trying so hard not to laugh as he began awkwardly twiddling his fingers.

As you rose back up, rubbing the toy across your other palm, you continued.

“Mm, spent a lot of fun nights with this thing, lemme tell ya.”

A low, frustrated groan rumbled past the man's quivering lips.

With a brief pause, he muttered, “Go ahead.”

Your cocky smile faded into confusion. “Come again?”

He turned away and bit his lip for a moment and repeated, “I said, go ahead. Tell me.”

“Ah, you know, Bill, I was just kidding, jeez,” you skittishly backpedaled.

His face twisted, only to be quickly replaced by a somewhat pained, flustered look.

“And I'm not. I don't think you get how it is to see that type of stuff in people's dreams all the time and not be able to feel or comprehend why they—you—like it so much!”

Faint memories of some dreams flashed through your mind, making your face redden as well.

“Man, I'm sorry,” you said with sheepish, apologetic eyes, “I guess it was a low blow.”

You had half a mind to remind him he was always making cheap shots, but it was more endearing from him and less becoming from you.

“Then...if you're so sorry,” he started, looking at you with a suspicious glint in his eye and lilt in his tone, “Why don't you help me understand?”

It was as if you choked on _his_ own words, and you coughed, covering your mouth with your hand (that was, you realized, still holding that toy, so you chucked it away).

“I...highly doubt I'm the most qualified to do that,” you slowly articulated.

He gave a slightly annoyed, beg-to-differ look and said with a small, sly grin, “Oh, but I can hear your thoughts right now, singing of how fun it would be to teach little ol' me!”

You scoffed, “I am not—” — _Shit_ , now that he planted that in your head, you were thinking about it. About his stupid face learning sex ed. _Or his stupid face at his peak..._

Bill was facing you with a miffed, albeit confused, squint.

“Urgh... _fine_.”

His entire face lit up and he took a very poised seat on your bed, legs crossed and hands folded.

You motioned to follow suit, but thought of something and went over to shut and lock the door, just in case.

In case of what, exactly? You didn't want to admit to yourself your expectations.

You proceeded to take a seat across from him (to which he scooted a little closer).

“So then...what do you want me to tell you? _I'm_ not a mind reader, you know.”

The blonde glanced nervously across the room, pink-faced with an uncertain smile.

“Tell me about my thing. My, uh, penis. I just don't get it. I thought it was for liquid waste, but then there's all that other stuff you humans do to it.”

The way he lost so much confidence when he didn't know about something was funny. And cute, like a kitten in front of a mirror.

Withholding a mocking smile, you put on a teacherly tone and spouted what you know.

“You're right in that it's for waste, but it also can be used for coitus, as it has a way of capping off one function while doing another. So like, you can't cum and piss at the same time. Plus there's the whole popping a boner thing when your dick gets hard, I guess. And then there's blowjobs and handy-js,” you shrugged, your diction devolving with each syllable.

Bill gave a quizzical nod and replied, “So when, you know, _it_ gets hard, you just mess around with it by touching it and blowing on it? And cumming is when your body pulls a white geyser, right?”

“Uh, kinda? I mean, blowjob is a misnomer because it's more sucking than anything. And cumming is a bit more complex than that, but yeah.”

If you had a kid and had to do this “talk” again...you'd turn them to the internet. This felt immensely strange, and even though you tried not to show it, you could feel the pit of your gut boiling.

“But it's fun, right? Enjoyable and all that?” He said with a hint of hunger in his tone.

“Should be, or else no one'd be doing it,” you rolled your eyes.

“Ooh, then I wanna try that!” The man piped, clapping his hands together.

“Ex-cuse-me?”

“Cleaning's boring, I want to do fun stuff, and you said it yourself!”

His lack of understanding the gravity of such an act was...mildly entertaining, but so ballsy that you were short on words, buzzing a low “uh”.

Bill either took that as a yes or wasn't waiting for your approval, because he was already working his pants down to his knees—which revealed black panties that were in no way his right size.

He slid those down as well (you slapped your forehead at the sight of your underwear on him), revealing a decently-sized, flaccid member.

You stared at him (no, not his penis, though you might have looked at it two seconds too long) with bug eyes, no words able to describe whatever you were feeling.

“So,” he impatiently harped, “you gonna do something or what?”

“Er,” you blurted, cheeks blazing, “I don't know how much I can do if you're still soft.”

The man knitted his brows. “Then fix that. C'mon, I've been waiting centuries for this!”

You dumbly blinked and ghosted shaky hands toward his uncircumcised length.

As you slowly pulled back the foreskin like you'd seen in some, ah, _movies_ (which made his knee jolt and take a sharp gasp) you wondered if your nerves were from sobriety or something...worse.

“Yowza, that was weird! It's so sensitive compared to everything else.”

You gave a noncommittal _mhm_ and slid your thumb over his tip, feeling it quiver and stiffen under your touch.

“Ooh...that feeling...” he shivered, “it's almost like...”

He beamed and demanded, “Hit me!”

“Seriously?!”

“Yeah! Yeah,” he wildly nodded, unbuttoning his shirt in a fervor. “Bruise me and then do that thing again!”

You were going to question his sanity, but realized he obviously didn't have any, and you've been wanting to slap him for the longest time.

And so you did.

With a loud clap, your open palm practically whipped his chest, causing him to lurch over and grab your shoulders for stability.

As satisfying as it was, you felt a little guilty. “Was that...too hard?”

He whirred for a moment and released a desperate, shaking breath.

“No...no, that-that's the ticket.”

You didn't even have to look to know his cock had sprung fully to life. You could feel it, twitching and hot.

Snaking your thumb over his tip again, he gripped onto you even harder, now craning his head into your neck, his jagged breath tickling your skin.

“Ag...again. Hurt me more and-and work my dick.”

The desperation in his voice was feeding your ego, and his sensitivity wasn't helping.  
From his fingers digging into your shoulders to the pounding warmth of his breath to the sweat beginning to glisten on his radiant skin, it was...starting to turn you on.

You weren't sure if you hated it or...actually liked it.

You gave another slap, to his thigh this time, and his knee jolted, hitting you slightly.

Bill reeled at the burning touch and whimpered. Yes, whimpered.

You let out a snort and he immediately leered at you, though unsuccessfully with the lustful flush and desire on painted on his sweaty face.

Feeling bold, you grabbed his head with your other hand and brought your mouth to his, biting down on his bottom lip. It was hard enough that he gasped and jerked his head, causing your teeth to dig harder and draw some blood.

Slowly pulling on his member, you released his lip and he pulled back with a dumbfounded, wincing stare as the (surprisingly normal) red fluid trailed down. He had an experimental taste and shuddered.

He must've read the accomplished grin plastered on your face, because he looked even more flustered, though refusing to break eye contact.

You maneuvered your hand around his back, under his shirt, and lightly grazed his skin.

Besides a twitch from his pursed lips, he didn't seem to react too much.

Taking that as a cue to go harder, you began clawing him, marking him like property, and quickening your strokes.

Bill exhaled a loud moan and dropped his head, shaking, pulling you closer.

Precum was already dribbling out, making his cock more slick and vulnerable and his breaths more erratic and huffy.

You considered finishing him off with your mouth, but he hooked his arms around your neck, one hand sliding into your hair, and pressed his forehead against yours, murmuring _something_ between pants. It didn't quite sound like any language you'd heard of, either, but it was partially muffled by the sound of your own ragged air (which was something you hadn't noticed).

You dragged your nails downward, swirling around his ass, struggling to keep tempo with your other hand, pumping him. Without thinking, you gave the cheek a fierce, resounding slap.

It sent him over the edge, he jerked his head back with a loud, high-pitched gasp, and swiftly slammed his lips against yours.

The sudden impact made you lose your grip, but all it took was one last glide over his soft tip for him to lose it.

With a bursting, screaming moan against your mouth, his cum shot out, warm on your skin, his head pushing further into yours out of exhaustion.

 

You didn't even have a moment to begin processing before a cold chill began blazing around your neck.

It wasn't so much out of place as it was...familiar. You felt it once before, when you... _made that deal_.

With a quick push, he fell, dazed, onto the mattress, still gasping. And his hands... They were flaming a bright blue, just like the first day you met him.

“B-Bill?”

He sluggishly opened his eye, which was also glowing a blazing sapphire.

Moving his hand to rub his face, he also noticed the slowly-weakening flames.

With a small hum, he satisfyingly sighed, “Oh...”

“ _...Oh!_ ”

He swung upright and studied his hands until the fire was completely gone.

Your confused look was met by his ecstatic, trademark grin.

“Did you see that?!”

“I saw it twice as much as you did, yeah.”

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated,” he deadpanned. “Do you know what that means?”

“I will once you tell me,” you continued your sass, glaring at the fluid on your arm and giving it a curious lick. _Salty._

Bill bashfully looked to the ceiling and rubbed his neck, replying, “It means that _that_ is kinda, sorta replenishing my power.”

“Seriously?!” You beamed, almost dropping the sock you were using to wipe off the mess.

“...Or,” you squinted your eyes, “Is that some shitty, creepy kind of ploy?”

“Jeez, toots, I can't even feel these damn toes. What makes you think I can use my brain to think of something like that right now?” He tried to grimace, but his smile persisted.

“Really, though, this brain is getting foggy. That was amazing. And for once in my life I'm being honest.”

You leered at him with a satisfied mug. “So you're saying in order to speed up the process of you restoring your strength and therefore finally getting my reward, I just have to get you off a lot?”

The man, leaning his left hand against the mattress, rose his right and, with a snap, a modestly-sized flame appeared.

Waving it off, he shrugged, “Seems so.” He smugly added, “Not like I mind, sweetcheeks,” he saucily winked.

“Considering how weak your endurance is, this should go by fast, then!”

Bill threw you a tired glare and yawned, “I have no idea if that's supposed to be an insult. But, boy, I'm tired. Is it always gonna be like this?”

You nodded, “Yeah, welcome to human limitations.”

As he slowly drifted his head to your pillow, he softly pouted, “Lame.”

You sat quietly as he drifted off to sleep, his chest lightly rising and falling.

He looked so peaceful. He looked... _so cute_.

Of course, the last thing you needed was to get attached to him. That wouldn't fare well in the end.

With an irritated huff, you realized he was still exposed, so you carefully tucked him back into your panties (which sounds incredibly awkward either way) and pulled back up his pants.

Crawling over to his side, you began to play with his hair, watching his nose twitch when you accidentally tugged too hard.

His soft breathing was almost hypnotic, and you found yourself getting tired as well.

Your eyes started drooping and eventually shut, your hand still laced in his golden locks.

The last thought that passed through your mind was,

_I wonder what a dream demon dreams about..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to call this my take on "how the fuck do i write this shit" and "why the fuck am i even writing this shit"  
> but yeah, you can imagine what's going to happen next. ',;^) maybe it'll even be well-written!
> 
> also, something to ponder:  
> 1-16-23-4 15-5 4-16-19 6-19-1-23-6-20


	13. AWE OD DPS FSWL VOLL IF W RWLES TFSWK VOLL?

The tall, soft grass brushed against your legs as you contentedly strolled through the field.

Though the area was cloaked in the night, it somehow felt awake and alive.

It was nice, but...definitely unusual.

Typically your dreams took place in a silent, misty town, or an illuminated, tireless city.

The settings deviated, sure, but you'd never dreamt of a place as cheesy as a field. 

Still, dreams were dreams, and you shrugged it off, enjoying the dream-breeze, noting a doe prance in the distance.

You hadn't slept well in too long, and this was a refreshing change, so you didn't care to think it over.

With some observation, you noted the field seemed to have patches of different flowers. Peonies, carnations, daffodils... They all smelled pretty nice.

As you crossed over into the next patch, tulips, you heard a faint giggle somewhere.

Though the sweeping grass was only a little past your knee, you failed to see anything that would have a voice, and decided to cautiously tiptoe through the flowers in the direction it came.

With a few Grinch-like strides, you saw the top of a tall hat poking out. “Oh,” you whispered to yourself.

You dropped down on your shins to stealthily crawl closer, but at some point the grass just stopped, and you were looking right at that sickeningly familiar triangle's back.

For once, he was propped on the the ground rather than floating, the radius around him completely burnt away, him fiddling with something in his hands.

Since he was barely as tall as your shin, you slowly stood, peering over to see what he was doing.

He was...hugging a rabbit?

Disbelief almost tangibly smacked your face, until you saw the frantic kicks of the small animal and realized he was gripping its neck far too forcefully.

You shouted something in a mix of anger and shock.

The triangle jolted and released his grip, allowing the panicked mammal to flee.

Bill turned to you, rising into the air with his arms crossed in annoyance.

“Jeez, why d'ya have to startle me like that, kid?”

“I could say the same to you! You're the one in my happy little dream _strangling a fucking rabbit!_ ”

He rolled his eye and scoffed, “You humans like them because they're cute, I like them because they're weak. Hah, cute, fragile, and helpless.”

You narrowed your eyes but knew arguing morality would be futile and a waste of breath.

“Still, you don't have to ruin my dream with that.”

“About that,” he said, his demeanor softening, “It's not me doing this. At least, not by my own will.”

Your face twisted in confusion, urging him to continue.

“It probably has to do with linking your subconscious to mine,” he rolled on, “I mean, I don't really have dreams of my own because I never had a reason to sleep, so.” His tone somehow sounded empty with the latter part.

With a nasally huff, you complained, “So that means you can't just leave and bother someone else? I already have to deal with you in the daytime.”

“Oh, my heart,” he melodramatically held a hand to his body (he didn't have any organs in that form...right?), “how you've crushed it so.”

You laughed at his act, somewhat encouraging his arrogance.

“But really, you think I wanna be stuck with you, too?” he joked. “I'm just not quite, uh...”

“Powerful enough?” you offered.

“Pfft! I'm always powerful, toots. Just not, eh,” he waved his hand for a moment, as if to summon the word, “Energized! I don't have that zappy power to travel anywhere. I'm pretty much limited to a cooler version of you humans' lucid dreaming here.”

“Uh- _huh_. And why can't you be in that human version of yours?”

“Ouch, baby, c'mon,” he wiped away a feigned tear, “Am I just a hot piece of ass for you to look at?”

You groaned and slapped a hand to your face, pinkish from his irritating narcissism and your embarrassing half-admission to liking his body. _His body, not his ego._

The triangle hovered towards you and pinched your face, “Lighten up a little, toots! It's complicated and boring to explain. I was just pulling your leg.” He playfully added, “Not literally, I know this is your cheek,” he patted the slightly aching skin.

For some reason, you burst with laughter, much to Bill's dismay.

“What? _What?_ Are you laughing at me?”

You doubled over, attempting to calm your laughs.

“Hah, no, it's just,” you straightened up, grinning at his reddening eye. “It's funny, because I was just pattin' _your_ cheek and pulling a certain _leg_ of yours earlier,” you sputtered another chuckle, barely able to handle your shitty concept of humor.

Bill blankly stared at you for a good minute, attempting to translate your innuendo.

But as soon as he got it, you could tell. His entire body drained of color and he quite literally shrank to the size of a butterfly.

His reaction only brought you back into a fit of giggles, you loved seeing him act nervous, it was so unlike his default holier-than-thou nature.

He growled and bounced back to his regular form and confidently rebutted, “Well, when you were twelve, I happened to pop into a particularly _rainy_ dream with you and that one animated character, whatever their name was! And you didn't even have an umbrella.”

You froze. Terrible wording aside, he did it: he actually referred to that version of you those years ago, the flawed prototype that you refused to acknowledge. Something no one dared to do. And yet he _knew_.

“How much,” you asked through a forced, gritted smile, “How much do you know about me from when I was first here?”

He seemed to puff up a size when you unwittingly let him know he now had the upper hand.

“Oh, _wouldn't you like to know_?” He teased in imitation.

You squinted at him skeptically. “Yes. _Go ahead, tell me,_ ” you parroted back, a small smirk curling on your lips.

“Tch, you really want me to tell you about my spying escapades? Fine.” He snapped his fingers and an ornate throne appeared. He floated down and reclined against the velvet, folding his arms behind him and contentedly closing his eye.

“Sit down, girlie, I can't manipulate time anymore, so I'd rather you not stall.”

Withholding any complaints, you took a seat on the armrest, which was much more uncomfortable than it looked.

“So—”

“No, I don't watch people like a hungry voyeur, especially not on prepubescent children.”

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“It might be hard for you to wrap your hormonal little head around, but I'm not all that interested in a body's surface value,” he deadpanned, peeking open his eye to look at you.

Your physical discomfort must have shown, since he somewhat generously offered his spot, floating out of the way.

Taking the seat, you felt Bill (now roughly the size of a rat) choose the top of your head as his new chair.

“And you just watch _everyone_? How is that even possible?”

“It's not everyone, really. I know where the interesting things are, and tons of it is in this problematic town,” He flatly answered, beginning to toy with your hair (the touch of his unique little hands made you shiver), “There's always something dangerous, crazy things happening right under people's noses. Gotta admit, though, I was pretty intrigued to see you come back here after that Rancor I created knocked your house down.”

“ _You_ were the cause of that?!” You hissed, your nails digging into the chair. “ _You_ drove us out of town?!”

He must've been expecting some other reaction, fuck if you knew why, because your tone made him flinch, accidentally tugging a handful of your hair—which you didn't register from the anger brewing in your gut.

“Hey, calm down! It worked out for the best, didn't it?” He argued, as if you had no reason to be mad, “Gave you a chance to become someone that you never could've been if you stayed here. So you should be more grateful!”

“How...could you even know that?”

“I...I just do,” you felt his hand tense on your scalp. Before you had a chance to respond, he quickly sputtered, “So, tell me, why is your hair so much softer than mine? When I have hair, I mean.”

“Uh, I take showers and use conditioner?” You shrugged, mentally noting he could probably use one when he wakes up. “Plus, I'm a chick. I like to believe there's a universal law that makes girls' hair infinitely nicer than than guys'.”

“Hm,” he uninterestedly replied, combing through some strands of your hair. “Tell me more stuff about you broads; I've never possessed one, so I'm curious.”

You grimaced, half at his consistent referral to women like it was the fifties, and half in wonder of what would dare to tell him.

After all, he may be a powerful demon, but you've seen even the manliest men cower at the mention of the menstrual cycle.

“Er, women carry live, moving babies inside of them?”

“You have a tiny being inside of you? Right now?!” His voice sounded sickened and intrigued.

“Hell no!” You sneered, “Basic reproduction lesson: guy has to shoot his sperm into the girl, her eggs are fertilized, a baby forms and gets popped out nine months later. Man, I learned this when I was ten, which I'm sure doesn't even register as a fraction of your age, hah.”

He grumbled something barely audible, forging on. “What if a guy, hypothetically, shoots off in a different orifice than that main one, would the chick ralph out a mouth baby? Or drop a shit baby in the toilet?”

You couldn't help but laugh at what you hoped was a joke.

“As impossible as it is, I'm pretty sure there's an article something like that in a tabloid.”

“So it is only that certain one does it. Boy, I once came across a really ugly creature covered in bumps and it was the complete opposite. If something sneezed on it or spat on it or whatever had DNA, the bumps would burst to life with weird hybrid offspring. Hoo, that was one crazy weird trip.”

“Uh-huh...” You said somewhat skeptically, wondering what kind of _trip_ he had.

“Guess it sucks to be one of you ladies, than, since ya don't get to enjoy it and end up harboring another freakish human inside,” he said, fishing for more interesting information.

Your face flushed. You knew what he wanted you to say, but you weren't exactly keen on complying.

“I wouldn't say we _don't_ enjoy it,” you accidentally thought out loud, slapping a hand to your mouth. _Fucking great._

Bill began condescendingly laughing as he could feel the warmth of your embarrassment.

He enjoyed messing with you too much, but getting him back just wasn't feasible in the end. You hated it, and he knew. He relished that fact.

Bill drifted off your head and in front of you, slowly growing in size as he hovered, rubbing his hands like a geometric Monty Burns.

“I wanna see you _really_ squirm,” he muttered, probably louder than he intended. “Want to see this fun thing I learned from some geek's dream?”

“Knowing you and your definition of fun, no.”

“Well, too bad!” He exclaimed, sending multiple thick, tendril-like appendages sprouting from behind his back.

You stiffened in your seat. You'd seen enough hentai to know where this was going.

At some point, years ago, you probably yearned to know how it felt. But with the slick, black _things_ now gliding around your body, you weren't so sure anymore.

One of the tendrils began snaking up through the bottom of your shirt, making you gasp and try to pull it out, kicking its glossy length. Several others shot out and wrapped around your wrists and ankles, holding them down. Bill approached invasively close to your nose, his eye sparkling determinedly.

“C'mon, toots, I'm just playing around,” he teased, happily taking in your tinted, upset face.

“You cocky piece of sh— _agh!_ ” You squeaked, your head dropping from the touch of the tendril that had quickly and forcefully slid its way under your shirt and brassiere, fondling one of your breasts.

He lifted your chin with an “arm” (his real ones were crossed against his body), laughing at your self-conscious, frustrated expression.

“Man, you are _so_ sensitive! I wonder what other spots make you do that,” he purred, sending more appendages to search under your clothes.

He liked the poorly-muffled whines you made from assaulting your chest, but was much more pleased when a stray member slipped between your thighs (luckily over your panties, not under), making you sharply inhale, a shock whizzing up your spine.

You cursed your inability to control those sounds.

“Haha, bingo!”

That despicably-placed piece was rubbing around, turning your upset appearance to that of pained lust, pathetic, small moans escaping past your bit-down lip. Through one squinted eye, you could see a faint pink coloration on Bill, his ever-watching eye showing some glint of emotion. You weren't sure which, though, since your eyes slammed shut when the tip of the appendage curled into an extremely sensitive spot. You growled, teeth painfully digging further into your bottom lip.

That demon shouted something, but, again, it was in a foreign tongue.

The touch of a small hand cupping your cheek made your eyes pop open, Bill much closer to your face than before.

“How about I slip under that fabric and see how entertaining your face can get?” He huffed, his half-lidded, glazed eye seeming to be hungry for something beyond your desperate expressions.

Your opened your mouth to insult him as the tendril shifted the hem of your underwear, and—

 

“ _HEY_ , can I borrow some headphones? I saw your keys on the table, so I know you're home!”

Your eyes shot open, the brightness of the room burning as you wiped the drool off your face.

“Unless you're busy in there,” the annoying voice of your sibling cracked behind the door, “You know, doing whatever with your _boyfriend!_ ”

You scowled. The snickering and other lovely suggestions weren't going to walk away any time soon, so you slowly got up, taking a moment to glare at the fair-haired man still asleep on your sheets, and grabbed some white headphones from your dresser before unlocking the door, quickly exiting and shutting it behind you so the bed wasn't able to be seen.

“Here,” you grumbled, glaring daggers with tired, irritated eyes, handing them over.

“Oh, I didn't actually need them, but thanks anyway,” they grinned, pocketing the equipment. “You actually have a visitor. Found him pacing on the doorstep,” they pointed with a nod next to you and began to wander to their room, losing interest in your affairs.

Lo and behold, Dipper Pines was there. You hadn't even noticed he was there and it practically startled the shit out of you.

He was leaned against the wall, leering at you as if he knew something you prayed he didn't.

“Hey Dips,” you sheepishly grinned, “What brings you to my humble abode?”

He stared in silence for what felt too long. Painful, accusative silence.

“We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how much our little Dipper knows, and what he would possibly plan to do with that knowledge.
> 
> And it sounds like Bill is hinting to some sinister secrets you couldn't begin to imagine, something beyond the heat of the moment. But what?


	14. WKH IDFDGH EHJLQV WR EUHDN

“Oh? And what is it we need to talk about, Dipper?” You ask while leaning on the doorway in an attempt to feign nonchalance.

“Cut the crap. I know you've got everyone else to fall for your facetious 'innocent' act, but I've got you all Soosed—er, sussed out!  
“You see, it struck me as strange that you were so buddy-buddy with what is essentially a cheap incarnate of a demon. But, hey, I figured maybe he'd been corporeal long enough for you two to become some kinda friends without you knowing his true identity.  
“But then I overheard Grunkle Stan's angry ramblings about a few certain journals missing. I didn't know he had them, but...I'm sure you did, along with its rather unique contents. After all, they were stolen only a few days after you showed up!”

“Dipper, I—”

“I thought to myself, coincidences surely exist. But the evidence. Man, the evidence is overwhelming. I realized, the last time Bill, yes, _Bill_ , not whatever phony name he goes by, held a physical presence was when he was possessing me!  
“I'll be the first to admit I haven't discovered the full potential of the books, but I'd bet my life that there's something in them to get him his own form! All he needed was a little inside help...from you.  
“In all honesty, it was the perfect crime. Or could've been. What sold you out in the end was your bad pacing! You should've known there would be at least one person smart enough to question the appearance of a human Bill Cipher, _dis_ appearance of the journals, and the hiring of a new employee right after the old one mysteriously vanishes all in one timeframe!”

The boy's hands were suddenly grabbing your shirt, pulling you down to his level, his breath heavy from his frantic and boisterous rant.

“And that brings me to the worst part of it all... Wendy.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he tried in vain to hold them back. “You're the reason she's gone! But you comforted me—you fucking comforted me while I cried about the girl you helped kill! I know she'd never return my feelings, but, goddammit, I loved her all the same...”

He visibly began to weaken the more he thought about her, and he soon let go of you before slumping onto his knees.

“Why?” He choked out between sobs, “I actually trusted you, people actually _trust_ you, but you're just...screwing us all and siding with a demon... _why?_ ”

Something began to tug on your lips, and you motioned to respond when the door suddenly opened from behind you.

“I was awoken by the sound of misery! Whose suffering isn't being caused by me?”

You sidestepped to allow the two to establish eye contact.

However, Bill's sadistic grin wasn't something Dipper enjoyed seeing. Rather, it fueled his rage even more.

“You!” The younger boy yelled, jumping to his feet, a finger pointed in disbelief, “What're you...” He glanced your way, “Your sibling wasn't—?”

He shook his head, small hands clasped over his face. “Oh God! Oh my God, it's true...”

“Gee, I'm happy to see you, too, Pine Tree,” Bill said with a yawn.

Dipper slid the hands off his face, balling them into fists. “F-Fuck you! You think you're so powerful with some kinda upgrade, but guess what? You still don't have the third book, and I do! It's hidden somewhere you'll never guess, and I'll use it to take the both of you down!” He strongly nodded to emphasize his determination.

“You mean it's _not_ that book-shaped thing poking out of your vest?” The older one plainly pointed out.

“...Fine, it is!” The brunette growled, pulling it out. “But you'll see, I'll get...” He flipped through the pages with fervor, “I'll get a manticore to tear you to shreds! Or...or these Woodland Critters to...rape you and piss in your eye sockets? Yikes... I mean, yeah! That's what I'll do!” He angrily shut the book, shaking it as if it were an old man's cane.

“Lemme see that,” The blonde interjected, grabbing the book rather easily out of the boy's hand. “Oh, these. Once met the guy who created 'em. Fat, nasty dude with a Napoleon complex.”

“H-Hey!” Dipper shouted, sending a swift and long-overdue kick to the man's groin, sending him crashing down to the ground in pain.

“Ahh, _fuck!_ It hurts! And not in the good way!”

“Just you wait! Now that I know you're vulnerable, I'll-I'll get you back!” He barked, ripping the journal from the other's grasp, but not before Bill's fiery grip singed the spine of the book.

Between their fight, you seized the opportunity to quietly sneak away, bolting out the front door.  
You were never a fan of confrontation.

 

After some wandering, you waltzed into the town's diner. You slid into a booth and ordered a coffee with all the fixings, secretly disappointed that the lazy-eyed waitress didn't seem to remember you.  
Then again, it was over half a decade ago.

You gave a quick once-over to the place. Not much had changed, but you felt it was better, more charming with all of its nostalgic, out-of-style décor and broken fixtures. One thing that caught your attention was the strength-testing machine. You used to enjoy watching the men compete over it, but it now was broken, and it wasn't too hard to guess the culprit.

“Hey, now I remember you!” The waitress, Susan, excitedly declared, pouring you the fresh coffee she had fetched. “Yeah, I knew I recognized that schnoz from somewhere! Good to see ya again,” she smiled, skirting off to the next booth of customers.

 _Is my nose that...distinct?_ You lamented over her (no doubt unintentional) backhanded insult.

You stared down at your coffee to examine your nose in its reflection, but the distortion didn't do much for your now-questioned self-image. But your attention was soon broken by a sudden, high-pitched voice.

“Hi there!”

You jumped, hitting your knee under the table, a bit of your drink spilling. Your face shot up, met by Mabel's goofy, metallic grin.

“Hi to you, too, Mabel,” you greeted, anxiously looking around for a sign of her twin. “What brings you here? The pancakes? The hash browns? Hopefully not the coffee.”

“Psh, nah! It's not nearly as strong as my own, specially-made Mabel Juice. I have that stuff every day,” the girl beamed. “But that's beside the point. I just saw you through the window and thought you looked lonely!”

 _Right. Window seats aren't quite useful for hiding away_.

“Well, you did! So...don't'cha got some boys to woo?”

“Gosh, don't be so standoffish! Now I think I know how John feels,” she giggled (it took you a moment to remember Bill's alias), “And anyway, that's not until tomorrow. Being ultra-loveable is tiring, sometimes I need a day off!”

“Uh-huh,” you shot her an amused look, “Well, _I_ have something to tend to,so I guess I have to go.” You got up, but she swiftly grabbed your sleeve.

“Don't worry, I haven't been sent here to spy on you or anything, jeez.”

As silly and aloof as she usually was, she had those surprising moments of showing she was more attuned to people's emotions than you thought.

“I...guess I could finish my coffee,” you said with a defeated smile, sitting back down.

“'Sides, everyone in this town knows if you're gonna spy, you should go for wired pin-buttons,” Mabel smirked, recalling some memory. One glance at your confused face had her give a sheepish, “Guess you weren't here for that.”

“I definitely wasn't!” You laughed at ease, “But it sounds like a pretty crazy story. Maybe I'll stick around for the details.”

“Okay, but you gotta buy me a milkshake, first!”

 

After an extremely long-winded session of listening to Mabel recant the story (luckily you had unlimited coffee), which she extended into other ramblings about the crazy, fake psychic boy, Gideon, such as his obsession with her, the time he got his hands on a shrinking flashlight, and, surprisingly, the time he had summoned Bill ( _how many little boys has that demon spent time with?_ ), all to wreak havoc on the Pines family.  
As young as the boy really was, you were glad you never had to meet him in person.

“So, what about you?”

“Pardon?”

“I've told you my awesome stories, now I wanna hear some of yours!”

“Uh,” you briefly searched through your memory, “Gotta say, they're all pretty boring, nothing worth sharing.”  
While you had your share of tales from the last time you were a Gravity Falls resident, you tried to avoid remembering anything that far back— _And for good reasons!_

“Nothing? At all? C'mon, every bird has a song to sing! No school stories? Or vacations? What about dreams for the future?”

The latter question struck a chord, reminding you of your deal with Bill. _Hope those two didn't kill each other..._

“How about...boyfriend stories?” The brunette grew an eager, saucy smile. “I wanna know about you and ol' Johnny-boy.”

Your lips tensed and you turned to stare out the window, avoiding her all-knowing eyes. It was then that you realized, by the darkness outside, that it was late—and you now had a perfect excuse to run.

“Gee, lookit the time!” You gasped, jumping out of the booth. “Gotta head home, don't wanna get chewed out for being late!” You lied, slapping down enough cash to cover the drinks and the tip and high-tailing it out.

You were just barely out of the diner as you heard Mabel yell after you, “ _Ya can't run from your feelings forever!_ ”

 

As you finally strode back into the comfort of your home, you began to wonder if leaving the two boys alone was a bad idea. Then again, Bill had apparently possessed Dipper before, and it speaks volumes that the boy made it out alive. And, needless to say, Dipper...was Dipper. He may have apparently beat up a psycho nine-year-old, but it was a nine-year-old. A chubby, powerless one at that.

You went into your room expecting... Well, you weren't sure what you were expecting. Bill's presence, at the least.

But he was nowhere to be seen. A twang of panic struck up your spine until a booming, off-key voice burst into the chorus of _Don't Stop Me Now_ by that one band in the late seventies.

It was bursting from past the bathroom door, on which you loudly knocked, partially to talk to the man behind it, but mostly to stop the god-awful singing.

“Bill, you in there? Can I—you're decent, right? Can I come in?”

“Well, yeah, toots! I don't see why not,” he replied in a sing-song voice.

You opened the door, immediately regretted your decision, and slammed it shut.

“Goddammit, you asshat,” You said with a tinted face, “I asked you if you were dressed and you said yes!”

“Actually, you asked me if I was decent. And I am,” he announced, “I'm more than decent, I'm pretty damn gorgeous!”

Bill Cipher, his narcissism precedes him.

With a sigh, you explained, “Walking into a bathroom with a naked man inside isn't quite...I don't know, normal? Socially acceptable?”

“Pfft, what do I care about society? I'm a badass, metaphysical entity! ...That just so happens to have a physical entity,” he added, “And 'sides, it's not like you haven't been blessed by the sight of my bare form before, babe!”

He had a point. An arrogant one, but a point nonetheless. You frustratedly grumbled to yourself as he impatiently went on, “Rather not talk to a door, kid.”

You swung the door open and quickly stepped in, making sure to close and lock it behind you, just in case.

He was still very naked, his uncovered right eye shone more brightly than you remembered, and his wet blonde hair was sticking to his flushed face. In fact, his entire body was glistening, as if...

“You took a shower?”

“Well, yeah! Figured you'd appreciate the pursuit of cleanliness,” he pouted. “And that kid down the hall even showed me how to use the water knobs! Don't know why anyone'd take a shower that isn't hot, though, that felt great.”

You had to admit, it was a nice surprise.

“Did you actually use soap, too?”

“Is that what those bottles were? They had so many weird and fruity names that I thought they were drinks. That would explain the bad taste.”

With an exasperated sigh, you shook your head and tried to take a covert once-over of his body, where you noticed a few darker marks on his side.

“Did Dipper do this to you?!” You gasped, more shocked that the boy did damage than at the damage itself.

“Oh,” Bill looked to the affected area, just above his hip, “Yeah, the little scheister kicked me a few times while muttering a lot of weird shit under his breath. Then he eventually stormed off. Doesn't really hurt anymore, though.”

You only briefly broke your stare at the heavy bruising to give him a suspicious glare. “That's it? You didn't hit him back or anything?”

“Mhm,” he answered ambiguously, looking away.

You were about to voice your skepticism when the light, curious touch you gave to his side elicited a loud, hissing gasp.

You shot up an apologetic look, only to see the blonde biting his lip, a nervous hand gripping his cheek.

Looking back down, you experimentally placed your hand fully on the area, feeling his entire body jolt in response. One part of his seemed especially affected.

You gave a small snort and laughed, “Jesus Christ, I touch you twice and you're already getting like that? Man, you're too weird for your own good.”

“ _Shhutup_ ,” he whined, cheeks flaming and his body still trembling from your hand's unbroken contact.

Amused, you shifted your hand and pressed your thumb harder into the purple blotches.

The pressure sent his forehead crashing onto your shoulder, his wet hair dripping onto your clothes and his shaky breath tickling your neck, and his pelvis becoming dangerously close.

You pulled back your hand as if he suddenly sent a volt of electricity through you (metaphorically, maybe), fumbling it with the other awkwardly.

“Damn it,” he groaned.

“What?” you asked weakly.

He drew back and looked at you, both eyes glowing. “Stop. Stop being a fucking tease,” he heaved.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“You know what it does to me, so you get me all hot and bothered only to cut me off,” he muttered in a low tone, “If you're gonna do it, do it all the way.”

“...Fine.” You were getting sick of the prudish act, too.

You got him to sit on the sink counter and traced a finger down his body and to his trembling cock.

“I'm gonna do something different this time,” you said, placing your hands on his thighs, moving your mouth towards the desperate length, “And don't worry, no mouth babies, remember?”

“Mouth _what?_ ” He unsteadily grimaced, steadying his hands beside him for support.

“Oh, er, nevermind,” you mumbled, somewhat upset with yourself.

Without hesitation, you snaked your tongue up his shaft and swirled it on the tip, his high-pitched moan increasing your gusto.

You took most of the length in your mouth, somewhat sloppily sucking and bobbing your head. You weren't sure how good you were, but took his hitched breath as a compliment.

Increasing the speed of your motions on his perverse appendage, you already could taste the dabblings of precum leaking.

“Fucking...touch—” Bill's loss of English didn't slow you down, and you slid a hand up his bristly legs, past his slick hips, and pressed it onto his sensitive bruises.

Immediately, a hand shot out and grabbed your head, his fingers ensnaring your hair and forcing you down to engulf the entire member.

You hacked and he quickly sprung up his hand, breathing out a “whoops.”

“Ith fine,” you hummed out, the vibrations making his hand clutch back on even tighter.

You sputtered a bit again but kept your motions, rubbing your thumb into his side.

Under your other hand, you felt his thigh twitch and his body shakily arching towards you.

He was almost there.

With both hands, you dug your nails into their respective areas, the pleasurable pain making Bill throw his head back and let out a loud groan, his cock pulsing cum into your throat, his hold on your head causing you to choke, the thick whiteness spilling from your mouth.

He took note and let go, allowing you to whip your head up and thickly swallow what was stuffing your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you croaked, “I really didn't want 'choked on a demon's dick' on my tombstone.”

“No, thank _you_ , sweetcheeks,” Bill purred, his eyes blissfully shut in the afterglow, “This deal just keeps getting more and more fun.”

You scoffed and licked off the leftover stickiness before getting up to retrieve a towel, which you promptly threw at him.

“Cover yourself, you're too much trouble when you're naked.”

He slid his eyes open halfway and gave you a smug look, his eyes blazing a fiery blue.

“'Ey, can't blame ya for being unable to control yourself around _me_.”

You weren't sure if you wanted to kiss him or slap him to get him to shut up.

However, you didn't have a chance to decide when a voice rang out from past the door.

“Are you guys done in there? I have to take a shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what cryptic shit to say after writing this.  
> Except ~~maybe the only reason I keep holding back the sexy-sex is to see how long it is until y'all break and beg me muahahaha jk~~ things will happen in the next chapters.


	15. WKH JODVV VKDWWHUV

The sound made you stumble a bit, a clumsy frown spreading on your face. Even Bill, who was trying to figure out what to do with the towel, looked a bit surprised.

Though, neither of you should've been.

You somewhat begrudgingly unlocked the door and swung it open, stomping past that smug face and its owner's cocky voice, with you poorly attempting to ignore how hot your face was as you went into your room directly across. Bill, like a confused dog, followed suit, clutching the cloth in his fist, shedding any notion of decency.

You went and absently stared at the small mirror on your dresser, starting to think hard about a certain something. The blonde kicked the door closed behind him, finally showing he grasped the idea of privacy, and pointed out, “Jeez, what was that? You didn't do any of that cutesy fumbling to try to explain like ya usually do.”

That was true. You faced him, wearing a shifty smile. “That's just because...” _Because something inside of me snapped and realized that my end goal is so close that keeping up that feeble persona is an unnecessary waste of time._

“Because I obviously couldn't explain my way out of that; it would be pointless and only make things worse. Elementary, my dear Bill.”

He narrowed his eyes, something more than skepticism glinting in them.

“Alright, whatever,” he gave up, tossing the unused towel on the mattress, “Can we do something about the temperature in this place? It's colder than I'm used to, and my skin is all bumpy and weird, I don't like it.”

You tossed a confused look. It was summer, and he had no reason to be cold.  
...Except that he was still dripping wet, and the air conditioning was on full blast.

“I gave you that towel to dry yourself off,” you nagged, “Not my fault you didn't use it.”

“But!” He protested, “How did you expect me to know? I've never held a body for more than a day, I'm still new to this!”

You rolled your eyes. “I guess you're still new to common sense, too,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing the towel and shoving it back into his arms.

“I don't get it,” he mumbled, shifting the material around in his hands. “Do you just...” He experimentally dabbed his arm and whined, “Man, this'll take forever!”

With an irritated sigh, you swiped the towel from his hold. “That would take forever, yeah, so you don't do it like that. You just, y'know, take the whole thing and rub yourself off. Pretty basic.”

“Oh?” He piped, snaking a sly grin. “Then, would you help dear ole me with that?”

“Don't see why you need me to, it's more than simple,” you grimaced.

“Maybe it is, but,” he batted his eyelashes, clasping his hands like a child and pouting his lips, “It isn't like you haven't rubbed me off before.”

He started cackling and, without thinking, you slapped his face. He stumbled and kept laughing, somewhat more energetically, while rubbing his cheek.

“How feisty!” He beamed, “You know I love it, doll.”

“Y'just don't ge—” You stopped yourself and straightened up, crossing your arms. “Fine, be cold. But you're gonna have to put clothes on at some point, can't have you like _that._ ”

“Give it a few minutes, my stuff's still in that bathroom of yours,” he waved off the issue, opting to lay down and relax on the bed, hands folded behind his head, “You don't think I miss Patchy? My eyesight is all uneven again, bleh.”

“Firstly, that's going to be an hour, not counting the airing out time, considering the travesty going on in there. Secondly,” you threw the towel onto his groin, “You're getting my sheets wet. Seriously, dry yourself off. I'm not doing it for you.”

He sprouted a devious smile and simply said, “No.”

“Guh— _excuse you?_ ”

“You heard me,” his shit-eating grin bloomed, “'No.'”

“A child,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose with an angrily shaking hand. “I'm dealing with an ageless _child_.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, “Like they say, 'growing up is optional'. 'Specially when there isn't much time left...to enjoy things if you're too busy being an 'adult,' that is.”

Bill tended to say a lot of crock, but that was too...too _something_. Maybe it was just in your head, but...

“Are you trying to be Nostradamus? Because you're seventeen centuries too early.”

“Tch, that guy's a hack,” he scoffed, “Forget it, I was jokin', kid.”

_Bull-fucking-shit._

“If I help your lazy ass, will you at least tell me what's up with you being so ominous?”

“Hmmm,” He briefly pretended to mull it over and was about to laugh at the idea when he started shivering.

“U-ugh, if-if it gets you to stop this fuh-reezing witchcraft, m-maybe,” he lurched forward and held himself, “What ev-even are these—ngh—spasms?”

You rolled your eyes and picked up the towel from his pelvis without batting an eye. “Just stand up. And maybe shut up, while you're at it.”

He made a face, but didn't bother with a snarky remark and hopped off.

You had to tug him down a little to get the towel around his head (either he was tall or you were short, it depended on how much you wanted to lie to yourself). You could practically feel his teeth chattering through his skull and vigorously ruffled his damp hair through the fabric—maybe a little too vigorously, but you couldn't be bothered to care.

With a quick swipe on his somehow freezing-yet-smug face, you continued the motion down both his arms, his back (which didn't need it so much since it transferred most of the moisture to your poor sheets), his chest—“Hah, it's like you're polishing the statue of a perfect man, ain't it?”—and very carefully around his waist before handing him the slightly moist towel.

“I'm not going any lower than that.”

“Buh—that's half of this body! My-my legs could turn to ice and break off!”

“That could never happen, and even if it could, me going down there is having my head too close to the danger zone.”

“D-damn you and your, ugh, hard-to-get act,” he growled just barely audibly. “Guess you don't want me to...to tell you about Doomsday!”

Through squinted eyes, you glared at him. He knew you wouldn't say no, and he knew you enjoyed him more than you'd admit.

“ _Fine._ ”

You turned him around and squatted down to work on his posterior, which, in all honesty, was—“I know, my ass is incredible. Spent a few good minutes staring at it in that mirror thing.”

For a moment you passed it off as his arrogance-for-two until you remembered his penchant for reading your thoughts. It worried you, how much he really knew. But you shook it off and rubbed the curvy cheeks. They weren't even that wet, but it was the only way to curb the nagging desire to slap 'em.

Down you went with the backs of his legs, and, him turning back around, up the fronts.

“Don't forget the most important part!” He slyly purred.

Your cheeks brightened the slightest bit, and you hissed, “That area's fine and you know it.”

“Hah, I do know, thank you!” That bastard laughed, “But really, c'mon, hop to it, Doomsday revealed and all that.”

_Fucking—!_

You threw the towel down and stood, leaning only a few inches from his startled face, yours a blazing red for mixed reasons.

“Why? Is it—is _this_ what you want?!” You snapped with grated teeth, roughly cupping his crotch.

His flushed uneasiness, especially at him not having the upper hand, sent a wicked smile unto your face.

“Of course it is, isn't it?” You cooed, sadistically enjoying his awkward eyes dart back and forth as you gave the spot pressured rubs. “Yeah, you're so overwhelmed by how it feels and what it does to you that you just can't get enough, huh, you big ole pervert?”

“Y-Yes,” he whimpered, wincing his bad eye.

His response, or, the fact that he responded, briefly interrupted your megalomaniac schadenfreude.

But you didn't stop, you weren't planning to.

You could feel him stiffening under your touch, so you pushed him down onto the bed so he was propped on his forearms, lying perpendicular to the absorbed moisture running down the sheets.

With short, quick movements of your fingers, his cock was unsheathed; your eyes flickering back and forth from his weak face to his weak groin as you grazed your thumb over his sensitive tip, teasing, “God, it's such a joke for a self-proclaimed almighty entity to be turned on faster than a preteen just discovering porn.”

To your slight disappointment, he didn't reply. You slowed your movements and studied his lewd face, with him biting his bottom lip and staring at you. But not you. Or, not your eyes.

“I just—I just wonder,” he bashfully rambled, catching your stare, “Y'know, haven't really seen a dame's body. I've only...only possessed guys. Some Alex kid, that guy in the fifties, Pine Tree.. Never, ah, never a chick.”

You exhaled a chuckle and slipped your hand off his curved length and took it and your other to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and off. Normally, you were much more self-conscious, but..well, you weren't exactly your “normal” self anymore, were you? The curious hunger in his shining eyes, too, was hard to deny.

Your bra was the next thing to go, swiftly unhooked and shed to the floor. The blonde seemed almost disappointed.

“I don't get it,” he frowned, pushing himself higher, balancing on his palms. “Why do so many guys like these tit things? They're just there.”

His intense stare at your breasts was...pretty weird. Then he took his hand and, saying, “I don't see what the big deal is,” roughly grabbed one of your tender mounds. You sharply gasped and turned your head away. There was something about his touch that sparked your insides. It wasn't like other people. Though. he wasn't truly a person, so maybe that was it. It was electric, and yet somehow...nostalgic. If that even made sense.

You glanced back and saw his blanched, agape face and felt his grasp tense, making you shudder.

“That...”

“Shut—shut up.”

“...was kinda hot.”

You stumbled for a flattered smile, but you couldn't feel your steaming face. Whatever expression you bore was the right one, though, as he sat upright and more intently groped both of your breasts, making you drawl out a breathy moan, your knees buckling.

He pulled you close into his lap, his throbbing erection a painful tease against your thin leggings. Borrowing from your example of a mouth being better than a hand, he moved his trembling lips toward your stiff nipple, imitating the motions of swirling his oddly cold, wet tongue over the bud, his shaky breath and prickly facial hair tickling your skin.

Your body arched toward him, a pathetic whine seeping from your mouth. It, he, was too much. You couldn't ignore the pulsing your panties anymore.

“God—fucking—just—” you stammered, pushing his lust-stricken self away, a track of drool running down his mouth.

You stood and pulled down both your pants and underwear, angrily muttering how much of a bastard he was before pushing the confused man further on the bed and climbing up to straddle him.

“I don't get it,” he said, leaning on his elbows and staring uncomfortably at your crotch. “What—”

“Showing is better than telling,” you cooed, placing a hand down on his bronze cheek. “Plus, you're really annoying.”

You steadily positioned yourself over him and held his firm member in place as you lowered yourself on him, letting out a small hiss as he stretched your slick, wet entrance.

As intimate as it should've been, the look on Bill's face was priceless, as was the howl of pleasure he shot out.

A tiny giggle chimed out of you as you began slowly riding his thick cock, his open mouth twitching and gasping as his arms gave out on him.

You kept up the cyclic bouncing until you decided to let him take the top, partially because you were tired of that position, but mostly because from where you were, he looked nothing like a demon that enjoys terrorizing the innocent: a rapidly heaving chest, an arm draping over his shut eyes, and a flaming blush (maybe it wasn't real flames, but his cheeks were literally steaming).

“C'mon, let's flip this equation,” you breathed out. He peeked from under his hand and gave a shaky nod.

Somehow, you were able to make it so he was over you without breaking contact. Between gasps, you instructed him a bit, but it seemed his body already knew what to do, and what started as experimental thrusts gradually evolved into heavy ramming.

Almost immediately, you had to dig a hold onto the sheets. His frenzied stabbings almost hurt, but in an intensely wonderful way. You wondered if that was how all pain felt for Bill. Speaking of which...

“Do you, hah, do you want me to hurt you?” You panted.

He slowed down and bore a puzzled look on his sweaty, glistening face as if he heard you wrong, but lit up when it clicked.

“Ohh, y-yeah! Um, ca-arve into me with one of those, those spoons! Or, no, ah, knife?”

“Why—why _that?_ ”

“Because then if I—if I ever have to ditch and come back to this body, I can remember—remember this, toots, obviously,” he grunted. “God, it's because I love that—that feeling of pain, better than being slapped or bitten or whatever.”

“Jackass,” you huffed, “The only knives are downstairs.”

“Oh, w-well...”

He came to a complete stop and shiftily flickered his eyes, debating something with himself. He then sighed and snapped his fingers, a modestly-sized paring knife appearing in his hand and he quickly put it in yours.

You confusedly looked at it and then him, who was awkwardly attempting to resume thrusting. You weren't sure if it meant he was close to getting his full abilities back or that he'd been hiding a lot from you, but you soon became too distracted to care when he gripped your knife-wielding wrist and brought it close to the center of his chest.

“Something—do something,” he desperately whined.

You didn't want to do basic slashes, you wanted something more...interesting. Your hand seemed to gravitate near the top of his sternum, where, if you squinted hard enough, could see the visualization of what you had in mind, almost as if it had a ghostlike imprint.

He made a great effort to suppress his upper body's movements and, hesitantly, you scratched the surface, not quite breaking the skin. He grumbled and you took it as a sign to press harder, tracing into the skin with enough force to send a small amount of blood leaking onto your own bare chest. It was only a few strokes, though, as it was already proving too much for Bill, as he was on the brink.

For whatever reason, he felt compelled to trace a finger on the scarlet liquid that was rolling down your body. He looked at it for a second, probably still amazed that he even had blood in him, and licked it.

Whether it was a Bill thing or a demon thing, you weren't sure, but he was so taken by the taste that he began to lap up the red spill on your body, his otherworldly cold tongue stirring against your warm skin that was putting you at your limit, as well.

With a few more intense slams and his mouth once again making contact with your breasts, you were out for the count. Your pent-up sexual need of that bastard on top of you resulted in a high-pitched, out-of-breath cry, your orgasm-induced clenches on his cock was all that he needed to burst his hot cum inside of you, his accomplished groan (in whatever dead language) resonating through you.

“Holy fuck,” he coughed, pulling out and slumping onto the bed. “I get it now! Screw that guy, I made the right decision. ...And what the heck is this misshapen, sad excuse for a triangle doing on my chest?! Really, you'd never be cut out for art, look at this shit. Worse than that Picasso guy. Then again, he didn't start that crappy cubism thing until I started messing with him. Guess modern art is my fault, hah... Can't take credit for that Yoko Ono chick, though, she's just nuts! But anyway...”

You were too busy staring wide-eyed at the ceiling to fully register whatever he was blathering to himself about. _Does birth control do anything about demonic sperm? Does he technically even have any? Would I just pop out a tortilla chip? ...huh, does this even matter if my plan is almost complete? ___

__“Quit being such a chick, worrying is for the weak.”_ _

__You turned your head to see a bored (tired? Both?) Bill lying on his side, his chin propped on his hand, staring at you through half-lidded eyes._ _

__Flashing a quick glare, you chuckled and agreed. “True. Still, it's kinda hard for me to not be what I am. I've learned to embrace it. Or, put up with it, at the least.”_ _

__“Tch,” he scoffed, “You should try being me for a day.”_ _

__You struggled to hide the smirk on your face. “Right. Ah, so,” you slid off the bed to grab some underwear and nightclothes, “You got all your powers back now? Because you're on fire.”_ _

__It was beyond you how he didn't notice the blue flame sprouting from his hand and almost engulfing his head. Then again, the properties of the fire itself was beyond you. …This entire situation, really._ _

__“Oh, whoops,” he said, waving his hand and rubbing his face to extinguish the flame. (What, does it just not do anything, or is he impervious to it?) “Er...” He glanced around the room. “That's a great question. Maybe I'll have an answer tomorrow.”_ _

__“But you still have to tell me about—”_ _

__“I'm going to sleep now!” He proclaimed, crawling himself into the messy sheets._ _

__Whatever, you could roast him later. You needed a shower._ _

__You made sure no one was in the hall when you darted into the serendipitously empty and clean-smelling bathroom and went ahead with cleaning yourself, trying to figure out exactly how much Bill knew and how much he wasn't telling._ _

__

__At some point after your too-long shower, you maneuvered back into your room, noticing it was even later than you thought. It was a little too weird that it was past one in the morning now, but it was only seven when you left Greasy's. Then again, time was an enigmatic concept, and you already had one too many annoying enigmas to deal with._ _

__

__You woke up from an uncomfortable (because that man-child insisted on hogging the blanket), strangely dreamless sleep and got yourself together, jetting out of your house before you had to look anyone in the eyes. God only knew how they were with Bill becoming an unofficial resident in its own. You went and had breakfast at the diner instead, sharing a long, one-sided conversation with Susan about her cats before you could dodge out and to work._ _

__Right, work. At the Mystery Shack. As in, the last place you should be going to after yesterday, but you were headed there anyway. Some naive part of you thought Dipper would've just been shrugged off as being having a bout of sleep-deprived madness or the like. Hell, you were actually curious to see what would happen when you walked in that door. _Nothing? Something?__ _

__You gleefully bumped the door open and strode inside with your typical, plastered-on smile._ _

__What stood opposite you, as if they were waiting, was a fuming Dipper Pines, his face bearing a large burn mark in the form of a hand, and Stan Pines, with the silent, terrifying stoicism only an ex-boxer could emulate._ _

__“Hey you two, where's Mabel?” You cheerfully rattled out, poorly covering your sudden epiphany of the gravity of the situation._ _

__“Out playing with Waddles,” Dipper hissed, wincing his partially burnt eye._ _

__“Is that so? Well, I should go give her a happy hi, then!” You chirped, slowly backing into the door._ _

__The door wasn't _the_ door, though, but rather Soos, who, despite his bodyguard-like folded arms, bore his usual goofy smile, which was all the more unsettling._ _

__Yep...the answer was _something_._ _

__Something's going to go down._ _

__Hopefully that something isn't you._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems some of the mysteries we have are becoming clearer, and yet...even more confusing.  
> Of course, one can only imagine how much longer we have until the end and The End.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~and yes i'm saying this with a straight face after no sleep and writing that shitty sex shit for y'all, fuck you guys even though i love all'a you~~


	16. VODP ERRP EDP, LW HQGV.

“So, I let you into my business, into my house, I trust you, and you repay me by not only stealing from me, but using what you stole to help one of the most dangerous beings in the universe. How peachy,” Stan said darkly, his voice unnervingly even.

“Oh, dude, is _that_ what happened?” Soos said in disbelief, “Not cool, I thought you were way nicer than that.”

“Soos, please, don't fraternize with the enemy,” the older man scolded, stomping toward you, his footfalls as heavy as a monster's. “When did you take them, huh? _That night?_ ” He said, his voice dripping with disgust as he glowered down at you. “How did you even know where they were?”

“Look, Stan, I—”

“Don't,” he barked, raising a stern finger, “Don't think that I'm above knocking someone like you out, woman or not.”

“Yeah, just because all the books are gone ( _All?—Oh._ ) doesn't mean we can't take take care of things without 'em,” Dipper sharply added, his burned face contorting in rage as he, too, stormed even closer toward you, threateningly hitting his fist into an open palm.

You instinctively stepped backwards, but, once again, you collided into Soos' pudgy gut.

“Hold on a sec,” the robust man started, “There's no way you did this on your own terms...is there?”

“Oh, uh, no!” You gabbed, wide-eyed, “No, not at all!”

“See, I figured! You two shouldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions,” he reprimanded the Pines boys.

“But—!” Dipper tried.

“I mean, you guys were saying it was that triangle dude, but Stan, don't you remember like, six years ago you made that rigged deal with him and he ended up turnin' you into that monster and you went around wrecking houses?”

“Wh—Soos, you know I try to repress my mistakes. Shouldn't try to ask a demon to raise the dead for ya, whatever,” His face twisted in much more than irritation. “What does that have to do with this little bitch?”

_My, how charming._

“Well, I mean, it _was_ a while ago, but I finally remembered she used to live here,” the Hispanic looked to you, “Right?”

“Yup, right!” You fervently nodded, half-wondering why you never recalled the handyman before.

“Then why would she help the guy that was responsible for wrecking her home?”

His sweet, sweet naivete was a godsend.

“...Nice try, but you know most the town doesn't recognize half the shit that goes on, how would—”

“But!” You blurted, “I was—I was a kid! And it seems kids are better at noticing things 'round here, aren't they?” You offered, gesturing towards Dipper.

“Maybe, but up until now he wasn't exactly visible to everyone in the open day,” the boy flatly added, “No thanks to you.”

God, they weren't going to make this easy, were they?

“You don't think he didn't dickishly 'visit' and taunt me about it?” You hastily rebutted, silently proud of your quick wits, “I mean, you know how he is, don't you/”

“Uh, but...” The boy's eyes quickly flashed around, his damaged eye half-lidded, “But, but then, why—!”

_Knock-knock-knock._

“We're closed!” Stan boomed, still quite unconvinced.

“But it's me!” The high-tuned voice beyond the door piped.

“Mabel, sweetie,” the codger's voice noticeably softened, “I told you to stay out there, we're still,” he leered at you, “Taking care of business.”

“I—I know, Grunkle Stan! I just...I need to use the bathroom!” She said, a drop of something suspicious floating in her tone.

“We have an outhouse, honey. Use it.”

“I...but... _Dipper_...” she weakly whined.

The boy perked as he almost naturally picked up the tiny panic in his twin's words, and he harshly shoved you and Soos out of the way as he swung the door open (if he were actually strong, it might've tore off), revealing Mabel meekly standing there, knees quivering and silent tears staining her cheeks and sweater.

“ _Mabel!_ ” Dipper shouted, “What——?!”

“ _Hellooo_ , Pines family,” a voice purred, its owner snaking from beyond the entrance's blind spot, leaning one arm on the young girl's trembling head, the other stuffed in a pocket.

“Bill—!” The two and a half men burst, in varying degrees of emotion.

“Tell me about it, stud,” the man cackled with a wink. Probably a wink, at least, since he was wearing the eyepatch again, along with a different, but still classically tacky, outfit he must've dug out (black slacks, short-sleeved dress shirt, scarlet vest, and that one damn bowtie). Mabel quickly ran out from under him and into her brother's arms, sobbing hysterically.

“What did—what did you do to Mabel?!” Dipper yelled, he and the others rightfully too afraid to get closer.

“Nothing to _her_ , jeez. She's just a little upset that I got a little peckish and turned that swine of hers into something a little more edible,” he shrugged, pulling his hand out of his pocket, clutching a strip of bacon. “Anyone want any? No? More for me, then,” he smiled, stuffing his mouth.

“Oh, Waddles,” Mabel cried, burrowing her blubbering face into Dipper's shoulder.

Stan immediately shoved up his cuff and sprang forward, shooting out a right hook that froze just before reaching Bill's pointed nose.

“Ah-ah-ah, Stanford,” the bronze-skinned man tutted, his eye turning that fierce blue with a quick blink. “Really, you're such a fuddy-duddy,” he said, taking out another piece of pig to chew. “Haven't been fun in years, really. Not since...” He quirked his brows as if they had a big inside secret. Though you knew about the monster rampage—which, you didn't try to think too hard about the fact that your subconscious already knew in the form of that dream triangle nonsense _you_ made up, yet you technically only learned now from Soos. You were far from Neil Tyson intellect. ( _So fuck it._ )—it could've been anything they might have between them.

“Cipher, I don't have time for this bullshit,” Stan grated, trying to swing his other fist, which was also frozen in place.

“Grunkle Stan...?” Dipper said, worried and curious, he and the girl wrapped in his arms not fully in the loop.

“Forget it, k— _ack!_ ” The old man cringed in pain as the small hearing aid of his emitted a painful, high-pitched screech that was almost inaudible to everyone else.

“Don't worry, I'll save you!” Soos declared, taking a step before lunging at Bill, but, of course, he was suspended in midair.

“Precious,” The demon grinned, “I expect nothing less than failed heroics from the one writing all those fanfics of—”

“BA-DA-YA-DA-DA, DOO-DOO, D-uh, heh, what wazzat?” The portly maintenance man interrupted in a panic.

Bill snorted and said, “Why don't all of you join your tubby friend?” Before having the Pines lifted off their feet. Stan looked like he had a splitting headache, Dipper, hanging upside-down, was on the verge of vomiting, and Mabel...her face was filled with fear.

The tall man strode all the way inside with his toys, the door slamming shut on its own behind him as he took a seat behind the counter, relaxing his legs up. “Boy, this is gonna be fun! Glad I waited a bit, it's so much better when it's all climax-y with all the amounting tension, innit, toots?” He excitedly smiled, turning straight to you.

_Fuck._

You already had half your leg quietly creeping out the window, hoping you'd be able to run off scot-free, but of course that jackass had to pull you right back in. You weren't even sure how he knew where you were in his blind-side. You reckoned you still could've made it bolted, but something compelled you to pull yourself back in.

“...”

“Thaaat's better. Now you can witness the glory of my pure, unadulterated power! Hahahahaha!”

“Beg pardon? Does that mean...?”

“Oh, 'bout that,” he said, his eyes fixed on the people hovering before him who were cursed mute, their shouts only being heard by themselves, swirling along with the movements of his maestro finger, “I was kinda pretending not to be fully charged up. It was pretty hard, being the all-powerful and all-wonderful me, but you understand, right? Totally more theatric when there's buildup.”

“ _What_ ,” you spat, stepping towards him, trying to avoid looking at the floaters (after all, you didn't have much against Mabel or Soos and almost felt bad), “What kind of storybook reality are you living in, pal?”

Bill laughed. “Man, if only you knew.”

You were about to make an exasperated complaint, but threw your hands up, giving that it would just be a waste of time. Putting them down to your hips, you impatiently tapped, “Can we just...be done with this? So I can leave satisfied, you can do whatever shit you're going to do, and we can go on with our lives?”

He laughed again. “I dunno how that last part'll fare for them, but...” He twirled his small goatee pensively, “I mean, I'd rather this lasted longer than those other times, but this was a good enough run for me. Can only imagine how the next guy fares...”

“Would it kill you to not speak like you're some all-knowing, metaphysical sage?”

A bright eye glanced at you with feigned indignance. “Yeesh, I may not know _everything_ , but give me some credit where credit's due! You think this vague cryptic bullshit is easy to pull off? It's been,” he gave a quick chortle and added mystically, “It's been years in the making.”

You rolled your eyes and stuck out your hand, just like when you'd first met. “My patience. It wanes.”

Bill flashed a brief look of genuine upset, but gave in with a sigh and stood, a quick nod of his head allowing the others to be heard so he could relish their reactions.

“Fucking—”

“Stupid—”

“Damn—”

“Waddles...” 

That instantly zapped an enormous grin on the blonde's face, and he leaned in and grabbed your hand with a now-flaming one of his own, giving a firm shake.

“Goddammit. God-fucking- _dammit!_ ”

“Dude, no way...”

“See? See? I knew it!”

“ _Waaaddles..._ ”

You couldn't help but feel a smirk twisting on your face. “So, what I want is—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill waved you off his free hand, “I know. Powers just like mine. Not exactly the easiest or most simple thing to grant, but, hey, I'm bound to my words.”

“No you aren't!” Dipper howled.

“Fine,” Bill said, giving the kid an annoyed once-over, “I'm bound to my words, when I feel like it.”

“Fucking bastard,” Stan muttered under his breath.

“C'mon, you're really ruining this momentous occasion, Stan... _ley_.”

The elder man rumbled and immediately shrank, a different kind of pain showing on his face.

“That's better,” the demon sadistically smiled, “So, you sure you're ready for this, kid?”

You gave him a look that said it all.

“Aaaaall right, then,” he said somewhat hesistantly, mumbling to himself about “maybe she'll buy it if I said I forgot this, too...”

“A- _hem!_ ”

He gave a sheepish smile and took his hand from yours and tugged off the eyepatch, uncovering a brilliantly shining, golden eye. 

“By the by, thanks for that,” he grinned at Stan, tossing the accessory over his shoulder. “Suppressing all that energy was pretty taxing at times.”

“Wait, so, you made your own eye all hazy as a way to hold in power for your overcomplicated lie?” You frowned in confusion more than anything.

“Yeah, even from this side, that sounds kinda unnecessary,” Soos chimed.

“Gah, you people will never understand showmanship!” Bill snapped, apparently too invested in his performance than anything sensical, his arms energetically emphasizing his tirade, “I had to hide my energy in that eye so that I wouldn't be too obviously teeming with power, but the energy makes it really bright, like a star or whatever, and then I had to maintain a sort of seal to hide it, but _then_ that got so boring to uphold so wearing that thing helped black it out without effort! God, you guys are such uncreative plebs!”

“And I thought _I_ was twelve,” Dipper found it in himself to snidely remark.

The tall man brattily stomped his foot, his entire body bursting into flames out of anger (and embarrassment, you assumed).

You couldn't feel anything, but one glance saw those prisoners were suddenly overcome by sweltering heat—even Mabel, who silently rocked herself.

“Bill, please,” You insistently harped, “Before someone dies.”

He turned his now-equally shining eyes to you, the flames vanished, but a forceful aura pulsed from him. “Okay, we're doing it, calm down.”

You wondered if he ever heard himself talk.

Without warning, he leaned incredibly close to you and pulled you in for a kiss, much to the horror of the grisly outburst and Dipper's dry-heaving.

He pulled back and stared at you expectantly, a giddy smile beaming.

“Wait, that was it?”

“Nope, just for fun, really.”

You immediately felt your hand fly a slap across face, causing him to giggle maniacally.

“Hah, that's all I wanted! Now for the actual thing!”

_If only pain actually hurt him..._

Bill placed a hand on your head and pressed his thumb firmly onto your forehead. You struggled to keep your eyes open against the skull-splitting pain searing through, balling your fists and trying to maintain focus on his determined face, but he soon shut his eyes, a third eye appearing above the other two, bigger and more...deeply hypnotic.

Soon all the shouting and cursing sounded distant, and you could focus on nothing but that third, pitch-black eye staring through you. You could feel Bill shaking, like he wasn't capable of handling something so intense. Maybe you demanded too much, but...it wasn't as if he was truly obligated to you, was he? All you did was bring him some dead tree product to burn, nothing as spectacular as cosmic abilities, right?

You wanted to keep wondering, to keep thinking, to try to figure out all those unresolved questions, but you couldn't. Everything was blurring out of focus, the last thing you heard was the tiniest whimper, “ _Waddles _,” before it all went white.__

__

__“Funny thing about stories, they're very cyclic,” a voice in the void chirped from somewhere and nowhere, “Once it's over, you can just restart the entire sequence, like the universe hits a reset button. And as long as you make a stance to write your own tale rather than be the scripted characters, you can avoid reaching this kinda bad ending over and over.”_ _

__“What? 'Bad ending'?” You asked—or, you did. You couldn't really feel your mouth. Or any other body part, for that matter._ _

__“Y'know, the dead end? The missed-flags route? The...end?”_ _

__“Yes? I think?”_ _

__“Well, welcome to the nether, kid. Screwed things up again, it seems.”_ _

__“I—I'm not dead, am I?”_ _

__“Technically, yes and no. Yes in the sense that your body's gone, no in the sense that you're here, somewhat.”_ _

__“What does that even mean?!”_ _

__“It _kinda_ means that trying to replicate my own amazing, incomprehensible power pretty much imploded the universe. Again. But hey, better this way out than whatever you had planned!” He laughed._ _

__“Great things,” you sighed, “I had great things planned, man. But—that's besides the point! Why do you keep saying ' _again_ '? And how the fuck can you ' _implode the universe_ '?!”_ _

__“Simple, energy can't be created nor destroyed, hopefully you know that, but it can be exchanged, converted, so on. I mean, trying to absorb enough energy to transfer anything near my level was a terrible idea, totally vaporized everything in a cataclysmic bang. Or a pop, since it happened faster than most anyone could register. Didn't even get to finish the process, but...pretty funny, really.”_ _

___Funny?!_ If only you had your hands..._ _

__“That...still doesn't explain the rest,” You said, trying to smooth over the shock which wasn't easy in the least, having the candle of life and everything in existence snuff out by your own power-hungry desire. “Why did you agree to do it? It sounds to me like you knew this kinda thing would happen! And again, what's with the implication that this happened before?!”_ _

__“No need to get snippy, yeesh. Like I said, it's pretty funny. Plus a former incarnate of myself came to me at one point and told me not to do this and that. But then he said all the fun things that happened and, well, my impulsiveness took over.” He quickly added, “And no one tells Bill Cipher what he can and can't do!”_ _

__“Do you even realize...”_ _

__“That my less-cool inability to sense cruel irony made me repeat the same mistake?” He chortled, “Yeah, I know. But I'm way cooler than that guy, he couldn't even keep his bowtie straight. I'm sure I can convince the next me to do something less end-of-humanity-y.”_ _

__You were stunned silent by his, his... _him_._ _

__“I mean, I should probably do that sometime soon, since this is no fun—not you, of course, toots, just this whole lack of everything. It's pretty much akin to time travel; just don't tell that HG Wells, he'd blow a gasket trying to refute it. No imagination, that guy. Anyway—gimme a sec!”_ _

__His voice vanished and you were given brief moments to truly try to comprehend anything. All you wanted to do was become a higher being, mess with people, take over a few countries, and maybe start a new world order. It was simple. But no, somehow everything went wrong. All because that cocky sonofabitch was too obsessed with fun than quite literally anything else._ _

__“So anyway,” the voice returned._ _

__“Back already? You tend to ramble on for much longer.”_ _

__“Tch, whatever. The essence of time is pretty much nonexistent here, y'know. Actually spent quite some time there, which may or may not have been mostly spent in front of a mirror.”_ _

__You prayed to yourself that you wouldn't have to spend eternity with _that_._ _

__“Ya realize there's no line between thought and speech anymore, right? So stop being so rude.”_ _

__“Did I really accumulate that much bad karma?" You openly complained to yourself, "All I had was ambition like anyone else, I don't deserve this!”_ _

__“Again, you hurt me. But fret not, my dear,” he declared in a cheaply heroic tone, “for this universe'll reset and we'll be deleted.”_ _

__“Was that supposed to make me feel better? Sounds terrifying.”_ _

__“Shouldn't be. I mean, I'm not fully sure what happens after this because I'm only me, not every single one of me, I don't think, but there's multiple universes and realities, might just be transported to one. Or Hell in the form of a pit filled with those furry hamster-owl toy things that are rigged to constantly sing the worst pop songs in existence. Haven't been there, but I hear it's a place some wind up if they screwed up irreversibly. Damage control and all that.”_ _

__The rationalization that there were things out of his comprehension, important, non-arbitrary things, and the thought that there were greater forces than he, whose power only twice-over destroyed your universe, was startling, to say the least._ _

__“Never liked things that were unpredictable, personally. But, hey, what can y'do?”_ _

__“ _Maybe_ not _let this happen?!_ ”_ _

__“What, do you want me to apologize? Because I won't, it was fun. Most I'll say is thanks, you made a thrilling conclusion with it all,” He quietly added to himself, “Would've liked to torture Stanford a little more, but whatever.”_ _

__“You definitely aren't welcome,” you panned with slight hint of amusement._ _

__“Yeah, yeah,” he said, a quiet ticking sound coming from somewhere. “Guess one of the higher-ups caught wind of this, gonna do that whole rebirth of the universe. Knew a guy who saw one, said it was pretty awesome, if not a bit show-offy.”_ _

__“Right...”_ _

__“So we only have a bit of time left, the moments left to be cheesy and say that out of my entire existence, these few days were pretty fun. Not fun like those wars, but it really felt special. I owe it to you, kid.”_ _

__“It was...the most excitement I've ever had, so it makes us even.”_ _

__“Yeah...” He said in a distant tone, the ticking growing louder._ _

__“I'm not going to see your stupid face again, am I?”_ _

__“Hah, your guess is as good as mine, I don't know what happens next—er, I don't think I do. But if it helps you get past the pain of not being around me, just remember the same thing that just happened is going to eventually repeat in this realm, even if it's not you and me, it's still you and me.”_ _

__“Didn't you—?”_ _

__“C'mon, you know me, I don't even listen to myself if it risks the chance of something fun.”_ _

__“Pfft,” you laughed, “At least you're the least bit self-aware.”_ _

__“How can I not be aware of _me?_ ” He joked, “I may be an arrogant prick, but...well, that's it, really.”_ _

__The ticking was louder than your voices, but you were just barely able to hear each other._ _

__“You're indeed one of the most narcissistic, irresponsible assholes I've met, but I'll be damned if you don't know to make some of the most awkwardly entertaining memories! I'll try not to forget 'em!”_ _

__“Ah, shut it! And hey, I might get a friend to visit you wherever you end up. Just...make sure to have fun, I know I will! _Hahaha!_ ”_ _

__All you could manage was a “Goddammit, Bill!” before a deafening bang occurred. The Big Bang, more specifically. It was pretty magical, no words could describe it, but that was just fine, seeing it in wordless awe for fleeting seconds before you were staring at white again._ _

__

__But this time, there was something else, too. Words._ _

__

__Your eyes flickered across the bright screen, reading some kind of story._ _

__“Who even wrote this? It's so confusing,” you muttered to yourself, “So pointlessly complicated. And they can't even get the characters right! I mean, I know that one's hotheaded, but they're smart enough to think before doing something that stupid...”_ _

__

__With a roll of the eyes, you clicked away from the page and went to check your email, completely unaware of the spirit floating behind you._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //hurles microphone through the stage floor  
> DOBBY IS FREE!  
> DOBBY NO LONGER HAS TO SACRIFICE DOBBY'S SLEEP!!  
>  _FREEEEEE!!!_  
>  ~~unless you guys want to bug me to write you a small somethin' on tumblr, which i can't say no to and might not screw you over with cough _@soapforyoursins_ coughfollowmecoughcough~~
> 
>  
> 
> Also this entire chapter was basically my middle finger, as in fuck you guys.  
> Though I couldn't've sacrificed my sanity to the devil without your support, so, sorry, too. For everything. c^;',


End file.
